fireplaces on the rathe-ripe septic moon

one alone long enough for searing love
dancing at the coordinating rushed-up char
contentious as going into rival horse-maps
still stealing the weathered straight litigiosity
and now the sanctuary lies dormant like oil balm
pledged by meteorite feete those to others soon
rhythmically and interchangeably too soon for trust
netherward cycles again for love, cold and concealed
burdened with defense fires’s ember lovemaking
where the curse of a floundering ceiling’s baskets bark
horded freshet fastened gas pipes ripple in the east
like soft membranes on the cold cloud atlas defeated
heartache and death going someplace, now to a place
where the fête of smoldering chapters try to bluster soon