her backyard,
a granny smith apple,
stolen screw driver from a dead beat father's toolbox,
relief bought from a stranger.
two or three times the charm,
we'll no longer be strangers,
teeth feel as if they are gigantic as femurs,
sausage fingers,
attached limbs,
bottomless stomachs,
throat, like a plastic water bottle scraped along a gravel road for miles, and miles, sanded down.
she traces my skin with her tip-toeing index and middle fingers,
and we just know each other's intentions, goals, and souls,
like malicious, territorial sharks know a human's panicky heart beat in their deep warm waters,
i can hear every bit of you from the outer to the middle,
indistinguishable to the beat of the drums in basie's orchaestra,
flowy, and canniving like the sin of the sax,
the marrow of the bone.
from such great heights, in dismantled vision,
and a parallel universe of a inverted landscape,
i think i can learn to cherish each and every single on of your peccadilloes, and kinks.
mouths accompanied, occupied and full of lies like a port-a-potty is full of shit;
entangled and cottony.
enhanced with some kind of mist or lidocaine to be better mouths, quicker (jack rabbit on speed) kind of bitter tongues.
