Ovarian speckle, lash and silicone thrive,
our tongues and tails and medicine—men taste—
buckle-lick us deep, your name reminiscent of mud.
Wasted thrive, aluminum dwell. Two, eight.
You drape your insteps with denim and call it august.
Boom, baby, I migrate our bodies and graphite.
Thick freak, core when our bodies made moon-born,
star-veined lipids clout our skin, mottled sand
we drape and billow. And our thighs: craters.
Unknown gravity, autoerotic, cement coats our shadows
in slick little fishy fingers, and his bones turned jelly in my teeth.
Cold sky, frozen still, its trails of sick birth matte our faces, frescoes and carats.
Writhe, cars. Honey pavement, jagged legs, bristled suns and Vaseline.
Cold house, tumble young and warm, skin/titanium contact.
Shadow-wrist kings slip fuchsia, tabs where she puts her name and burns twigs.