You are the mother
of wet hands.
In slow belly suede,
a soft skin of milk
is a wanton half
haggard and white
knuckled.

Today, I joined the circus
and breathed two breaths:

one for my youth,
one for my mouth.

one for a miser,
one for a coward.

You are the father
of thin tendons.
Reap in belly suede,
nuance spoiled and spoken.

A dragon by the tongue,

I breathed fire, stifled
nectar
and ate my fist.