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Description
You wait quietly as my tireless fingers
work to embalm your body--
i have caught your visage like a venus fly trap,
your skin soft as t.v. static.
call the repairman! the dirt has departed
and boarded up your epidermis like tiny windows.
i can no longer see you there beneath
the softly growling ocean--

you, lying there next to a stone like a still and shaven head,
two faces, jagged and perilous.

You, turning and peering with heavy eyelashes like slowly closing doors;
somethings ancient that do not wish to be over.

You, a thing uttered in the clenched arms of a single syllable--
you, who makes middling love to a grammaritian--

My sandpaper tongue will lick the goosebumps from your arms
to bleed out your secrets until you are new and umblemished,
a phantom robot with paws and claws.
Stand on your hind legs
and wonder where the other legs have gone
and when these hands appeared
and how to use them.

I run a wet berry of tongue along the sunline
where the sun cuts a sternum of earth.
there is dirt on your shirt cuff.
I snuff out your light