Your lips are made anguish

 Your lips are made anguish. Just in case the wind puts out the fire. Just in case you were a bonfire. Or closed eyes. Or orange flame. Just in case the hunger. Severed hands hanging on doors. Dressed down the aisles floating. Mild night of mild love. For the first vertical lies. While at sea night. In dreams, trapezoids. In the treetops of your hands. I saw yellow ships there like paradoxical fruits of the landscapes of time.

Sense, then ex-isto as a hypo/thesis.