Two artists in love
fight for the air they breathe,
claw words from each other’s throat
to wring and squeeze dry in metaphor,
the fiercest competition.
I hold my breath,
give you permission to quote
me. Feel robbed when you do.
Word joggers, we compare laps
at dinner. Sneak out notepads
before dessert.
My nightmare memory of Ariel’s
copyright. I wake up kicking.
An old Leonard Cohen line
our contract signed in blood.

Sometimes when we make love
I hear the crushing of bird wings.

8/16/76