Because there is danger
in the skew of your mouth
when the words pour out
I will watch more intently
for hearing what you have to say
may take the hand, the heart,
sinew and bone of it
make it raw meat
ground, light, sweet
to those who prefer it
stop talking with your eyes
I can not decipher
spaces between your teeth
and the knit of your brow
write it with tip of finger
here, where skin reads it
then, when the touch is gone
I will know it.
Tracing tips of tomorrow’s tests
across ages in indelible ink
bone brittles at bygone breath
talking in tongues leaves lip marks, at length
lash length punctuation
poor pores, seeking suction of sweat
skin sighs, dying deliberately
no steam left to curl against him
touch its feather tips to his chest
move up against his chin
to trace the lips like lover’s crest
this air caves in, heavier, still
it presses pain and grinds
the very act of wrestling will
of scorched hearts and minds
if I had a mouthful of care
for what he brought to this
I would kiss away my share
leave him vibrating in what he’d miss
how often he brought me to his lips
coffee skin flat against the bed
a sad folding of canvas on fine ships
blackened dreams sunken in my head
that I should concern myself at all
to turn to see his bitter aftertaste
is somehow empowering; this fatal fall,
the very scum of our waste.