Figment wrapped in coiling surrender
Your embryonic licking tickle
I could have held you in these limbs
Until you & the moon held the beacon
On a great, large pike
Like severed skulls of kings & queens
Who once dreamed & creamed
That they would rule
The tiniest minnow,
You, my love.

Disintegrating as if fingertips
Held anxiety & power
With every touch.

Sometimes I think I simply--
Smoke too much ****, to be the housewife
Of men who rose & took up all the seats
Before.

But my minnow & me
We plant with our ***** soiled fists
Into the worms and four leaf clovers
Rooting into the specific "X MARKS THE SPOT"
Blooming pixilated images of the wings
I meant to give the moon all along
I could hear that you wanted me here