your ******* are like the sea
if the sea were made of islands
of lost ****... or mice that heave dead clocks
that beat back the passage of time
as a prison... but put forth
skin as a reason to be confined.
your thighs bark humid lips
whoms bite is worse than the absent kiss.
But the kiss is too the bone...
and too tight.

when the wet hunch is fixed.

your eyes are like the warm numb
of a dread quake.
a slinking barrage of absolute sleep
stitched to the heel of a dogstar ,
coming from nowhere -
like anyone that might draw the rain
from the lip of a bee
to appease the queen of Self doubt.
but...

Thine is the kingdom
of the less joy... even as you quake
the pavilions of my hive mind
to better slaughter my lust
with your Unkindness.

I beat wings against the heart
of You.

I walk away with the goddess
that gravity
told me
too.

And that be You.