sunscreen , wet cement. i taste sweat
       at the collarbone crevice below yr neck. all of us
    hot spring eyes , pussing blisters bleeding down
naked heels. it's ******* hot here in the shade
          of heaven. i want off the ride

popping pimples at the bathroom sink
    yellowing from the blood , from the dirt we
      pick up by touching each other

                   but i run the tongue , baby, the whole
               apartment smells like a bath bomb. i need
            to burst open beneath your mouth, slice the grape fruit in
       thin pieces. imagine the day when my hair grows back:
            then we'll know suffering has learned to love the space
       under the bed
                           where our bodies used to be

                                                             ­                    so in this night terror
                                                        i play the fishnet stockings of a long
                                                            ­  legged woman. struggling against
                                                        t­hem, you drown between my thighs
        like this. we squirm in the humidity of the night
        like this.

then in the next,
        i go missing at a family party and you look for me,
    i'm waiting to surprise you in a childhood closet, i'm in
the kitchen washing dishes so you get to put yr hands
around me. the world knows i'm in love with you so no one
will complain.
                                 and every terror begins as gentle as this, when
                              you round the corner to the bathroom and i'm in
                               the tub. what are you doing
     i'm smiling
                                               what are you doing
     what does it look like i'm doing

                   that funny little animal , how badly you want it
          to be out loud. then we can't paint the goat blood on our
          door, we can't let god pass us over. yr knees are locked
       and my veins are loaded. here, you hold the gun. the lamb
is ready for slaughter.
                                               a bunch of empty guts, some tylenol buried        
                                          in clammy hands you come in an hour
                                     back to knock on the door: i told
                                  them you got sick
thank you
                            don't come home tonight
thank you
                    
                                        ­                 i powder my nose and the holiday
                                              lights are strung before thanksgiving. you
                                            will keep climbing mountains with the blonde
                                       arm hairs of the glad hearts. you are too good to
                                        go looking in lower places;
        you are too good to **** a hound of hell.