Limit our private
As mouths fog, the nimblest heart—
The dread, all painted-face skewering
Or something tougher
Or eyelids—the separate:
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
The sinister half
Of where we last kissed it.