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The Tango is Love Unto Death

There are moments that never fail

To astonish.

And I believe it is no lie

To say that I worship

The astonishing.

And this is of course conditioned

By what astonishes me.

I walked my way as you

Walked yours

And I never put the guitar down.

What is it about love and life

And the living of both

That begets the cessation

Of the celebration of either?

I wish to die thusly:

Frayed and raw fingers

Wringing the song of my heart

From the strings of my oldest friend

Even as my heart stops

Once and for all

And the last notes hang in the air:

The sonnets to life

Do not die with mine.

I do wish to die

When the time comes,

And I will know.

By the time he comes for me

I will have made a fool of him

Because I switched

The briefcases

In the airport bathroom

And everything

That makes me

Me

Will never and can never die

If the flame is put

To the oil barrel of the world.

Do you smell that?

I have made a Phoenix

Of every last one of you

But especially you.

Because all of my sonnets

Cry out from the flames

That love is not love

That alters when it alteration finds

Nor bends with the remover to remove

Oh no.

It is an ever fixed mark

That looks upon tempests

And is not shaken.

A flame the oceans cannot extinguish

A flame that only feeds

On my gasoline tears.

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