i can't.
when trimming the calico hairs on skinly jaw.
like trip-hop leaching out of your pearly nipples:
like magic-jesus.
with porcelain around her
animal seeds.
where i can find:
the swirling of Listerine flushing down the side of your throat.
like swabbing for cells from the floor of your tongue
like swapping girls.
or
(like) picnicking deep inside
flower-bait.blue
trilling Gatorade apology/
simulating love.
and even now. inside the folds of dead house plants
i would be okay if you stained my teeth
with anything
you
had
to offer.
horse-whole in the water-
milky for you-
white as cuticles.
like the /fuck me/ hum of the A/V cart
hooked up and left running:
nothing.
stuffy
in the boxed we built
i am more perfect than camouflage
like pipilotti rist screaming her lungs to pale ribbons.
as kimono as Kiki was real
she- as brave as anything
i found it out.
as fragrant as
the deepest rooted thing-
blissfull as the afternoon.
as
red
as good cadmium.
and that is fucking red