The circle I walk around the mountain laurel now has infinity
             of my bodies following my bodies, walking blisters

filling with water. I could drink my blister. Mountain laurel is fed
             by flies when everyone swore they were bees. Why am I

following you up these stairs again. The building of small bodies
             of combustibility, smaller rooms so the flames can move

faster each time. My heart is leaping out of me. I have leapt off
             expecting to die, instead there is only blister water,

infinite bodies on infinite stairs, purple, flies, and thirst. How do I
             give up wanting this. I don’t. In blankets of flame

we meet. Our skin, falling into the universe’s open mouth
             spit out again and again. The blood and chunk of it.