Look over your shoulder for the hustle of words.

Sunday, November 9, 2008


Dawn is dim and all I think in the new light

is where my mouth burns from yours.

The furnace beneath the skin you sparked

is burning up my lungs.

Your ribs are the earth; your secrets are pressed

under the sand of your skin like shells.

I want to kiss you, dig with my hands

and find you out.

My cunt hungers for yours,

wolfish and sharp and wild.