I would push my tongue between your fingers
And taste soil and textures of knuckles and glassy
Skin. I would close my eyes over your neck and rolling,
Crushing foam and green against the shores of your collar bones
And plateau of your chest, I am a lighthouse and
The light from the prairie of your stomach is blue, wraps around
The still, dust-blanketed objects of my room and my neck.
You knead my shoulders like bread or searching for bones in fish,
There are continents pressing naked into the soil
Lying on our backs beneath my house and the cobwebs. Your skeletons of
Finger nails of salt run over my pillow and sound like
Steel against steel.
And all the harsh light shatters like china when it hits
Your body which is water and glass. You will bury your arms into me and I
Will smell your hair and I will tell you grimly, “touch me again and I will love you”
And I beg you, crumpling all things close to you like coke cans in
Silent gravity and empty space which multiplies like infestation and aluminum
Do not hear me and, soft, let your ear fall carelessly against my shoulder
Even if you return to me as only oil and other phosphorescent nothings,
Sinking my ships and crashing me like a bird into your ankles.
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