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  • “Name your torture,”
    one of them said
    with a wink.

    I wanted an orchard
    but I swallowed the vodka
    he handed me
    willingly.

    “The Gorge”

  •  and I came
    full at them
    hook in mouth like
    hungry lure.

  • love is temporal,
    I am assured by glances.
    because I seek it.
    because I open hand.
    because I press your
    barbed chest to mine.

    this blood
    emancipates me.

    “Scorpio”

  • sparkling explosion of
    cellophane and
    champagne nails
    down the
    back.
    fallen glitter
    dances
    on a throat:
    roving crescent moons
    from everywhere a lip hit
    and pieces of gold dust
    rolled off my eyelids
    down my nose.
    painted like a porcelain cup;
    delicately, glass heart,
    handle.

    bare mattress,
    ripped each corner of
    sheet off and
    me licking a cheek.
    I’m telling him
    ghost stories and
    eating berries in bed,
    mouth filled with laughs.
    I’m in an afghan
    sinking my teeth into
    a very soft and bronzed
    shoulder,
    straddled with bare feet
    and bravado drips from every
    inch of me.
    and what else?

    I’m somewhere else.

  • this next section is called:
    remorse & honesty.

  • bare faced.
    finally.


    scarlet blaze that starts when they
    peel away.
    an unreturned question
    stop annihilating things
    to remove one
    part.but then I straighten up.
    finally.
    we watch the black night
    burst into yellow dots
    and I
    lick your earlobes.
    try your fingers on.
    feel my back pressed
    into yard, open
    eye at you.

    fall in.

  • you became red.
      I became an unwatched bull.
    your flags,
    my Venus.

    I’ve got to chase
    whatever sprints
    first.

    3

    (Venus in Leo

    Venus in 12th house)

  • took me on the grass
    coaxing me with fireflies,
    big sky you would show me.
      I licked your earlobes,
    wafting. felt secure
    denying you.

    your chest pressed
    hard against mine,
    barbed.
    there’s this place I am
    trying to get to.
    but i don’t say it.
    just let the weight settle.
    let the rush take form.

    2.

  • I remove the rest of my top
    and close my eyes deliberately
    to show you the length
    of each thorn.
    wear my eyes like a hooked rose.
    tongue pressed
    against your chin,
    my lips trace
    your jaw       I am softer.
    having been tempered
    and forced close:
    you know,
    darling,
    let my teeth hit your lip

    I have never
    become divine without first
    becoming storm.

     been learning
    performative emotion
    to keep the ones I’m fettered
    to warm, and to feel their
    slippery manacles tease
    the tops of my feet
    like feathers as they pull
    me back.
    paint my lashes black


    and they’re wet 
    and
    shaped like little
    bolts.

    1.

  • wear my eyes like a hooked rose.


  • I’m obsessed with process
    and transition;
    the form it takes.

    metamorphosis; freeze,
    soft hand on neck to liquefy to
    precipitate, or the moment
    before; just to
    reform without final
    shape. stuck.
    or testing permanence
    with concrete.

    after all that patience
    and miles of crouch
    through the city;
    knees nearly broken,
    admiring chalked mortar and filling
    the jacket lining
    with lip gloss/little stones/change,
    my ardor growing big and bright
    and pulling things towards me
    like the moon.

     oh,
    to be suddenly seized
    by my habits again.
    a  soft hand on my back.
          it’s just one breath

    that’s all it takes.

    “the men”

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