Subconscious (rub)

I rub & I rub until –
I’m embalmed.
In an oxygen cloud.
With bright blue dust
eating into my lungs.
Like a hot kiss.
A head rush, a release.
The B O O M of the
subconscious.

The theatre of form
is w a n d e r i n g.
A lost goddess
on the pavement.
Flattening leaves
under dusty heels.
We only combust
if we’re lucky.

& I’m lucky.

Desire can break you.