insatiable when tumbling
he wails              he has no fingers

in the dark his palms brush against
shrubs      lacerated in the dark

tumbling past his home his family
even his manner his own thoughts
speeding   without decline
a thud                      yet his heart still tumbles
at the bottom of this hill
in the eye of his dream
he hallucinates grey thermometers
last rites

arising
he dusts his tramp's attire
above    in his dream
she lies before him
open, telling everything
lost in herself

touching his wounds
gently with his eyes closed
he pinpoints her skin
exact      he smells her
he his her