That sinks like elevators of tongues to a certain floor
A low dropping of blues
Where the violins opened their storm cellars in the rain.
Lovers discovered, soon enough, that memories were flushed out faster
with body fluids
Their memories began to collapse and crumble into one another
One’s eyes flooding with tears
The other skidded for miles into the dark on
To the end of a tunnel
Blinking with wires and DNA.

Presently, sounds began to ooze from them
A condensation of bells,
Scraped off the skin in a Roman bath,
And their minds became incontinent
Love blossoming around them
Like warm urine in a bed
One settles into before they realize what it is,
Their genitals moistening
Like helpless patients that needed to be turned
An embarrassing greenery on its back,
Flailing like a tortoise.
Their senses all burst, into synaesthesia
Odor fleeing to sight
Hemorrhaging right into the afterlife

Down in her iris
Where the souls of her ancestors
Still flashed behind the dark canyons of her genetics
Like distant lightning
They tried to harness the light
Not understanding, like synesthete or autistic child
What light wasn’t

A pollen, produced only in music
Only the ghosts of bees could carry

To Odysseus past the barriers of beeswax
To a darkened theatre on Antiterra
Where Nabokov’s Demon sat at an opera of erotic camp
What flaked and dried on the crotch of his tux
Making it clear, as nothing else in the preceding 30
Years ever had,
That he would have no descendants

Though no one else knew
As he did
That what the young lady on stage
Had taken in a tryst, just before showtime,
Was behind her aria.
How, in the dark, his unborn children
Soaring in her voice,
Announced themselves to every ear in the room.