XVIII. La Lune

XVIII. La Lune

Other weather sang the words—Last received tortuous meters along travertine
Pavers dispatched with all possible speeds to receive your answer—Nanoparticles
Mapped the streams; elsewhere, a moonlit diction of weaving feet overhanging a bed
Addresses the condensation of your figure, whose plenitude flamed on occasion.
Erupting mid-argument, the Moon checks its billows, the glinting suggestion of a breech—
The film may be attenuated to such degree to disturb the equilibrium of a single voussoir.

That dark issue approximates the dome in its number of slices, or lunes, of a voussoir

Arch; as would the pattern of pins for a music box, or the bacterial regimes in travertine
Layers—All because we are made hollow by components, they remind of the difficult breech
Birth of facts unexplained or untouched;  and slowly eat into you, in spite of nanoparticles,
The antitumor delivery system.  Then I felt the deep tissue in its pincers, on occasion,
Watching landscapes with those who thought it best to suffer on their account; bedding

New arrivals is futile. With eyes fixed on a pendulum and the trajectory of its bob, the bedded
Faculties, still wheeling with hexagrams and final caffeine bolus, at last fit a precarious voussoir.
This formal rendering of a body’s fullest extent, unprotected by its sleeping owner, occasions
You to prove the contrary. In the mossy slipstream, where abraded deposits of travertine
Adhered. And attempts to arrange in vitro hastened a bandage, its mediating nanoparticles

Of calcium applied to wounds that never existed—These sleep transmissions, are they a breach

Of trust, or findings by heart? Feelings of weakness are there; too, at the pistol’s breech
I take for your elbow—With the same effect as before, I might have experienced in bed
The tentative love, but the native’s wedding band and books intruded still; more nanoparticles
Of doubt than first imagined, with the spontaneously bloody sheets and collapsed voussoirs
Of an entryway into those abandoned rooms—My mind leaves no such furniture to occasion

Going back.  Those planning to build to avoid mistakes must consult Vitruvius on travertine

Before it is angled under diamond cutters—The honeyed stone seizes under fire; as travertine
Of a certain lighting-struck amphitheater attests, where outcroppings of cineraria breach
The legs of defeated gods. Allowing somewhere for tethered dogs to narrate, the occasion’s
Predominance of black absorbs, desolates to hope, and to assess the import of your bed.

Lurid moonlight yields unwitting poses—Perhaps, we fear dispelling the visions of voussoir
Arches, their adjoining spider webs. The high charge of leather and oakmoss nanoparticles

Concentrates into a nose, or was it impertinence of Yodhs, the open-palmed nanoparticles
Of sentiments of which we remain unfamiliar? I leave the details to precipitate travertine
By the mouths of hot springs; harmful because they distract from the work of voussoirs.
Others, who had not even bothered to sort out their bodies, are suspected to be breeched—
To be read in total transparency; if necessary, to bleed—Granted to dreamers in their beds,
We set great store by good manners, yet a nocturnal seeping up to the pasterns occasions

Even the Moon to move too much. Our fragrant, adolescent images occasion nanoparticles

Unsure of their breeched effect, in the remorseless moonlight, and cement voussoirs—
And know of the devotion of shared bedmarks, all sprawled out in veins of travertine.