I was a motheater, loved
Bugs and other caterpillars.
I planted a bunch of
Pills but none of them
Grew.  I sought transit across
A star, pinprick on its
Glaring tongue.

After I suggested baking soda
You used instead my cologne
To wash your hair.  We
Traded old photos from the fridge
For blue skies reflected on future lakes.

If when my
Brow no longer rises
Like milk
In steepest tea

Unbarb the wire,
Steady the skreeking gate,
Prescribe my final burn.