No One

          1

The hour you spoke to me (as I remember)
when some 40 Heavens
came spiring up-
wards
in a blossom fire,
my limb-
paint
bubbling from exposure;

It was the same afternoon when I made my last human sound.
Oh, I had a tongue in mind
but it left
purring into a carbon relic.

I've had to learn how to breathe
your particulates
and become star-lunged on bangles
of clear, drunken smoke.

          40

Long after, I read a book of heresies and you are type-ridden there -
an indulgence of a Goddess.
She blushes when you move.
She laughs at my remains.