the death of a masculine bible

II: his heat / a meeting.

the heat brings the bodies out,

and it brought something out in me.

an internal heatwave,

 oscillating through my organs,

as it made oscillate the skyline,

on one sweet sticky evening,

on one hill.

a gradient that matches,

the tangled drapery of your muscles,

that I climb with less effort,

than at sunset.

I seek that wavering skyline,

that makes me cry out for more.

breath is taken away,

as I mount such a winding path,

to victorious aesthetics with pulsing red lights.

what are those for, you asked?

oh, helicopters, planes, the like.

flying too close to animatronic suns.

the red warning light, that flushes my cheeks,

is a mirror: for when my / our skyline,

 reaches its climatic split / crash.

and I will run, 

(splitting with a laughter that resembles pain)

into a wide open, greening space:

my feminine horticulture.

and one hot day,

amongst the blossoms of early May.