apodyopsis inflicted
and I can’t lick it
so I imagine you unfold
like paper origami
one more time.
finger your jeans and
you spill open.

I lick your cheek and
feel you bite the side of
your mouth in halt and
can you remember
the times you fanged
your way through bra hooks
and brunches, never-ending coffee
and one-liners?
something the other ones taught you.
stiff congratulations or how are you and
that’s wonderful
followed by
nine months of inimical
silence.
I move quietly     quickly
distort you into something
palpable.

my hands move
clumsily.
I keep you in amulet
in my pocket and I
squeeze you when I am
nervous.
you are licked,
smoothed with assurance,
rubbed.
you’re the botched swan
I frame proudly;
me, robed in black flowers
and loaded rifle walking
out of mid-February
with you tucked in the crook
of my arm.
you become loosely creased
looseleaf reduced to a crumple
floating to the floor.

without altar,
a harmonic little
m o r e
in my palm
on your way
to the tile
where I gently lay
you    leave you
altered without prayers
once more.

leave you twisted
in want
like me.

“warning forms”

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