This first kiss
is the juice of life.
Burn my tongue with glory
     or defeat
and I will love you.
I will love you
until the last arrow is buried,
until the last blade laid down,
until the last barrow born,
and we wayward marchers
tear the stones from the roads
with our calloused heels:
Ever long is the journey
into your bloodied arms
and I would walk this road
a thousand times
if it would pull you down with me,
if we could lay side by side in the earth,
if I could kiss the coins on your eyes,
and hear you calling me home.