for G*

of course to take you in my mouth, deeper still but more than that to
peel you from you, spine from wing, sated rind from hoof, dazzle eventuous from the rhurbarb

pie still on the sill and still cooling.  I want to do with you what
ice cream does with a warm pie, a little butter unzip

to be a sugar cube and hurl
myself off the silver tongs and into your steaming, baby, to answer the question with my first tongue.