Let’s say my lover was a volcano.
We made jokes of dirt and dusty
blankets, the snoring of cows.

She tricked the sad gods into
the mystery of her mouth. I was always
fighting for air, she the one hungry. 

I wanted her craters, sulfurous.
How I vanished when she exhaled
in her smoker’s cough way. In the distance,

Mars shot darts at Saturn. Whistles and barks.
Stars the colors of bosque and blood. Cows
pushed their muzzles through slats in the wall

and breathed in soft syllables of dreams. Each night
lasted longer than hours, I swear. As we lay there in dark
planets had their way with us.

Clouds hovered low as smoke, kept the fires from flaring.
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