your love can make a man
forget he has a body


run your eyes along the boy
as you’d pink salt rim a glass
soon as he says he will make
the drive tonight

two nights after they killed
that other boy who don’t
look much like your boy
except the

                    …you know…

skin then spoon-batter a soft
egg. yolk, sturdy kiss, butter him
into better thinking. and if boy
still don’t get it, touch

like potential dead
‘til there’s nothing to do
but love-make


begin and end with these body machines
sensing the death towns over
like a knee does rain

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“One minute my girl is curled against me... The next she is crouched forward, finger pressed to the page.”