it's good what you are doing after all

this inarticulate, our mutual
backing away from the brink,
dismisses an argument which
we tangle to throw off the table,
an expertly woven dismissal
frayed by our ominous hello,
the dark time on its harried way,
the breath lidded, an ethical
furlough, an embrace of our
tempestuous space, our
mythical bruising, selectively
umbrageous, heretic sucking
of our night-blood, delirious
stump, harp of the taken,
pluck love pluck, or shark
the cage of my distance,
if you can hear me from here
delve into your wooded wounds,
and carp your balled-up tender
head into a basket-case, fettered
with felt sense lace, a paralleled
arrival, unparalleled
in some respects.