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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