The curvature of her enthrals me, ever
Calling me to her body, so still can she
be, motionless but underneath she is as
Irrational as any one could really be.

Her mood like everything can change,
She is impercive in her vocal structure
That I ride with every word, till I fall
Off the tip of her tongue.

I crash beneath her, but she lets go, letting
Me breath resting upon her.  I love to be
With her, she surrounds me, I feel her upon
My skin and relish her touch, we are one.

There is red in the forefront of my family crest, I was told
that meant outsiders were not taken lightly. We would pour tar
over castle walls and then many years later down our lungs.
One technique would take longer to die.

Riding a steam engine with a harmonica attached at my chest to make tips
I double-tasked with a guitar while tar burned
on the vestibule. Keeping those who didn’t like the smell out.
The engine burned killing pixie-dust flecks and turning them into cinders.
To Duluth and back
each mouth mimicked.

We used to abide by segregating those who enjoyed torture
and those who didn’t.