Vision

A winter Tuesday, the city
pouring fire;
I fixate absent-mindedly 
on the glow
of your lighted-bright burning limbs.
The bacchanalia has 
arisen in the streets, and 
swindled you out
of your sensible stare.
You blend into the 
sidewalk, like a reptile,
and change your colors;
I sit on the ground, 
melt my fingers
into your skin, and liquid
city races by our feet.