Christopher Bakka

*

Apostrophe, you sleep
                             facing the wall
              away from me, my sweet
                                                          omission.

Nothing could be done
                             to expurgate your spleen —
              you were blasé & passionately so.
                            You saw
                                             as one of life's indomitable facts

— indomitable blue, sole blue, oh cruelest blue

              the flood that rises up
to choke us.

                              I was thirsty. None of this
                                                          will matter.

Aaron, I know this. It's you
             I have chosen: the world of signs
                           where your rod is the first
rod to flower.

                             In my mouth, I take its white blossoms