oh how i'd plant myself
     into you with the speed of
             your feet on the beach
                 running out towards me,
       and we will move up
                   and out, intertwined
          into the burning gas up above.

      i will feel as Dagny does
           and hold myself strong.
        i will be tall inside
    a rushing river and i will
         guide salmon as i see fit -
                 
                 it won't hurt
            when your hands wrap
                 their contoured prints
      across silk that is
         skin rubbing across
     those hands that are
                        steamboats
               in a river that is
                  my torso.

         bliss is born
           and will die in my lungs
     and i will sharply inhale
             every bright speck of it,
      even when it drags
            like a menthol cigarette.

                i will grow into
                a tree made of
                flesh and mucus
                like, it seems,
                my body should.