sonnet?

let my words be the smoothest scotch
hot and velvet upon your tongue
let my words pull your hands into fists
and against walls, against air, let your knuckles
break like a fever passing, a pack of wolves howling.
run to a confessional box, savor the darkness there
dislodge the sonnet stuck in your throat, and dance
dance the samba under broken streetlights
pray to gods whose names you've invented
carve your own poems into the walls of churches
place offerings at the graves of strangers.
let my words pull you across the continent
to show up on my doorstep unannounced
with the full moon concealed in your coat pocket.