Scruffy thing, livid from washing
with the tip of my tongue
found hair in places I knew not existed:
it gave little track-marks, a buried belly button
sprouts in the radius of your private parts
and I scrambled your fur like eggs.

Matted with saliva now
but I find small locks in my ******* from
time to time, ones that did not stick
and were plucked from your pants-line.

They slumber in a box or are wiggled
between your comb’s teeth on my nightstand,
I want to find the torn follicles
and replace the black stems again
compose poems on you with my wet mouth
hide my name in your body hair please.