Merciel

We lay on grass beside the pond, surrounded
by trees that block the smog. Rainbows of roses,
daisies, and daffodils swallow us as stars sprinkle
the obsidian canvas and cast the spotlight on us.
She’s sprawled like a lioness beside me
as she twirls my hair into finger-sized halos.
I rest my head on her thigh like a puppy
as my hands float on the waves of my chest.

My dirt eyes clasp the emerald glow of hers
and my off-key lyrics consummate symphonies
with the violin that is her voice and nature
applauds with its crickets and croaks. She beckons
me with her rose scent, and so I pounce. The milk
of her dress melts into the coal of my tuxedo.
The breeze blows on the fire our bodies beget
and the rain becomes vapor before it touches us.

And that’s when a howl casts me down to the Earth
back to my room, blind of light and sponged in sweat.
The train’s groan reaches me from across the city
and I wonder if I should fight the atrophy and rise
to another eight hours of cleaning toilets at McDonald’s
to end in a night of drinks and dialogue with vampires
or if I should open the drawer and swallow the bullet
that’ll return me to my bride, this time forever.