The buttocks of a round building,
here we sleep, in the cheeks

each penny groans
and a door with the inlet

like lemonade mist, egotistical
where I mouth waterholes

they are without genitals
I can travel by candles to amend

my bed-sins –
such a chaos, still look silk

folly, belly-aching mistakes
not enough apologies to escape

I bet you would, had you no cribs,
you could tuck me in

staple comets to our ceiling
darling, I have the sleigh bells

and I think you made the pearls
hot, our mattress’ internal springs

while businessmen clothe
we will make love again

beyond astronomy, college didn’t
teach what is beneath the stars

but now I am learning
it is your tongue and chest-plate

glow you consider me delectable
though this office has more bottom.