And how I
    churn to dust
    my madness a drive
with white knuckles, fists
        and red heat,
    spinning circles of fire
            until she disintegrates.
        a storm.
How she dubs my words
    and counts the days
        on my arms.

Who is this who
    takes my breath, who
        becomes me
                in the blue filtered morning,
    in the
            stained night.