You peppered princess of toothache, naked in the drywall-soaked stars Who spoke to me with glazing the sidewalk, kicking stones talk Your voice is a strike that persuades atoms and the hum cuts me sweetly, Sings into alleys of dead skin and new skin and blood I’ll face you with love, look me in the letters, understand we’re sainted with the meat of something rotten— Yet-born, maybe? For your tongue sweeps me with violence so that I bend with a white-knuckled grip And sew into long, waxy nail beds to brush my own hair with you Oolong labyrinth, your soul’s the richest polyrhythm, a sacred space for me to ripple. You lay a brick and I build a castle where we only fit sideways, then Let slight perfume blitz two thousand symbols 'til at last I'm just your snow-capped halo— Fingertip to phantom lip, Buried heat into your back feathers to constellate my breath, exchanged unsteady nods Gumdrop eyes, empty plates, stares into sex and tears into sex and sex into nothing. The sheerness of a girl with all but one slippery hour for hand-in-hand to puff the asphalt from our shoulders, I want you to come erupting from my sink, turn a knob and you’re there: Gushing, dripping, gone.
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