my guides said that one was mean
and a waste of talent, here
is something more
pointed, yes,
i am so pointy
in challenge but
also when resting.

when I meet someone
I pay attention to what happens
next more than what they say
which irritates everyone
so I cannot recall a detail
of your life so fast and hope
I am not caught off guard
with inquiry, and let’s
move now to the daily humming:
the way I flutter,
if I flutter,
when my heart jumps in
my throat
and when has that started.
how many tarot cards
are on the floor.
what’s the song repetition
look like?
do I fall into clouds
of clenched jaw keeping
aloof, keeping eye on my fingernails
at intersections like I’m fiddling,
busy too busy for this
or do I seem to succumb to some
wrought sink hole
dug for ages
euphoria buzzing bout
me on these trysts
all over town
seeking conclusion.
not conclusion,
seeking armory,
seeking justice,
seeking lovers worn
like kites to call
the others back.

also replaying the way
I perhaps said too much
then flinched and
what is the playlist
looking like?
and how many times does
the word like fall out.
I think I am in like
some deep crushing must.
it is not about getting
it is about
the black panther who sits
on my sacral in slow
stalk reminds me.

I want you to
late at night
like this and
think of what it would
feel like for you to
slide your fingers beneath
my skirt, rest me up against
the wall, your cheek on mine;
tell me
you are shocked at
how wet i am
and then keep going.

dig in. rub me,
dig in, grab my neck,
push my cheek against the wall
and suck the line of salt
from sweat with your
baby panting tongue
before you throw me
on a bed and
slip your calloused palms
clean around my head,
push my face into the mattress,
get a scent of me and
whisper of shock
(how tight whores can be)
tickles my earlobe,
I want you.

I want you to think about it.
for weeks,
this imagery.

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