Akiko, it's autumn and you've survived the summer. Come closer. Dissolve. It's Halloween on the evening of our death, a mutilated mess of celluloid and guts -- A hard swallow off the pier, a shot-on-video French slasher movie. These are the woods. Wipe the tears from your cheek and follow me. The heart swells. Breath tightens in panicked gasps. Gape open the wound. We've become specters of our own hallucinations. There's a path to the house. There's a man with patches of hair sewn on his scalp. Hang the body by the creek. A crate buried in grime. The pages of our youth. Lock the doors. The killers have risen from the swamp. We slip down holes dug from the mud. Climb trees. Stand in a field and feel the branches rake your throat like the fingers of a lover. You've known love. You'll swim home and drown, feet caught on the ruins of a bridge. In the white water. On the back of a motorcycle or a snowmobile. With ax in hand. With my heart in your unfettered palm. Swimming. Singing. Blood welling under eyes. Now, sleep. And when you awake, I'll stretch my fingers from the phone to the truth behind your teeth. And live within you. As a blemish.
