I WALK ON THE MOON... YOU WALK ON MY FACE

things ain’t real out here. just fake.
the amber gasp of a slow meme in a chamber
of your last laugh. 
every day that records your release from a nightfall
is a jot in a book that a worm
was reading… to the dead.
your love has taught me things that have no god.
taught my circle how squares are corners 
without everyone.
a lovely bit of chance in the dis-truly random.
a game on a plate at a banquet of 
fruitless antics.
i walk on the moon as you walk on my face 
like a Russian at rest on a self-interest
eating a dynasty of “what next? “
i keep nothing but a slavery
in my war chest….
but you
keep nothing
at all.
sometimes the burning is an ordinary thing.
a Fahrenheit so low that Hell looks up
to refute the Sky you want.
and the dead wings 
you use.
there are doors that baffle keys 
and there is a God.
My love made you the opposite
of exactly what love wants…
from me.