I know a friendly serpent,  

Who splits its tongue,  

Speaking two languages, each half in tune.  

It loves, it hurts—  

It's daylight, and I blister by moonlight.  

I climb mountains and drown in oceans,  

Chasing the trace of where you dissolve.  

I spy the sun with a periscope, searching for my girl—  

She loathes sunlight, my fading, yellowish moon girl.  

She devours the moon, sleeplessly thinking of me.  

She loves me—oh, how she loves!  

She is all her love, loving everything in me—  

Nurturing my sins, my sicknesses.  

She tiptoes,  

Climbs trees heavy with sour fruits,  

Leaves dripping with moonlit emotions and sweaty sunshine,  

Green fading to yellow, daylight dying.  

She scoops the moon from the sky,  

Moistens my parched lips with her sweet saliva.  

She breathes into me,  

As she breathes into her lungs,  

And our breaths become one—  

Our oxygen molecules intertwine in the depths.  

The turbid air dissolves into mercury in our veins,  

And I grow denser, peaceful.  

The blisters heal.  

The friendly serpent hisses no more.  

We play our old childhood games,  

Lying supine on cement benches,  

While grandparents nap in the afternoon heat—  

Running through sun and shade,  

Finally declaring,  

Lying prostrate on cement benches,  

Here, I shall die.

She reminds me of everyone  

I’ve ever loved and deeply missed.  

All my childhood,  

The turmoil of my teens,  

The wandering exploits of youth,  

Incessant sins like burnt cigars blistering  

Those tender, kissed lips.  

Let’s play: Here I shall die.  

And oh, my friendly serpent,  

Lick me with your lovely split tongue,  

Now entirely out of love.