Crocus (la petite mort)--2/2

I thought
"Fuck winter"
and chewed my way through the soil.
With soft green fingers I clawed myself through the frost.
You must have been shocked
seeing me, a purple bell
that tolls for everyone
everything
that flashes through you, a shock that pulled you to the floor
in a manic fit of god.

We could have been a couple of marble-faced saints
getting shit on by pidgeons.
Your childhood blanket over our faces.
Religion meant to choke us
castrate you
make a blank page of me.
But when the Holy Ghost couldn't make me come,
you did.

You're the sort of man
who will crush windows with his fist in the name of another woman
and come to me to pull out the shards.
You live for a little death:
that warehouse roof teeter.
that ex lover's scarf in a knot.
the vibrations on the surface of your tongue
when you know you've tasted something you can't explain.