Your crackless heart suits
yellowed walls while I suck in
chary breath and ponder
colours, schemes and futures.
It will soon be time to withdraw
to the garden where exotic fronds
and rainforest niches
languish in the drought.
Such mutinous weather forces
my hands to curl, clench, thrash,
as you press your lips against
my breast
hoping against fortune
lightning will burn the brier
of our heated tangle.
But I know you too can hear
the hollow, forsaken gong
echoing from within.