Sinister Halves, (to the) Same Problem

Limit our private


As muscles



As mouths fog, the nimblest heart—

The dread, all painted-face skewering

Or something tougher


Or eyelids—the separate:

Wide-open stares,

As carapaces stand glowering from afar.


She pushed my guts in, left a print,

Ingested a heart just to feel it slide

Down a throat—the hard way, it hurts.


It is smoke-rings to dance through: the words,

Easily come, to one wrapped soft on the floor,

Peeled back—a worship and tribute bespoke.


A corporeal pleasure; you tease from galleries,

As screams that open throats, paint walls with speech;

A bellow so loud, with pouring black lines, affixed to cheeks,

As tears, gone, for far too long, left to linger


As scars

So prescient,

So purloined,

The sinister half

Of where we last kissed it.


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