My lust for you is
rolled

as a mudslide over pines toppling
aspen regurgitating earth
displacing boulders
jumping up

plowing furrows through weeds
rippling air screaming electric
pagan force fusing soil
to torrent soil

then over train trestles
into yawning tunnels
muting power lines
drowning deer.

My fingers bleed from milky stems
rooted on these uneven floorboards
flowered in a thunderstorm
blooming at 4 am.
Shifting ground.
Dirty clouds.
Desolation.
Silence.

Say you aren’t greedy
for this type of destruction.