cazimi
*
I should like to be bold
sopping wet
greased with blood
I slip out of my own grasp gushing forth from the dime-sized hole drilled straight through my thumb and out the nail—
a small holy spring for you, my Giant— so you may wet the very tip of your tongue,
glittering, it steams, that last breath from the first bite of a hot madeline; obsessed, I consume its last breath
*
the masculine urge is burrowed deep in the pit of my body, burred spur spun sharp and I, worm or oyster, clamped up around that spiked wheel— the relief, do you understand?,
of being seared shut— the juice brims—
*
I stare lidless
the sky blinks for me
Arcturus, he gilds my blood with metal, the same blood that pins me to the wall drunk
on fish and midnight sun
sight widening, panting I touch the thought like a—
*
the midnight sun slips open my mitochondria (body
humming underneath
body) (lust in space)
midnight sun! that bandaged wound. pulsating. deep oil immortal, seeps when pressed, rising
to wave down the fingers
and when the passion falls flat, tunneled syrup, my reluctant mouth and faltering heart; you come on, each new layer of flesh snapping open like a cut ribbon flung
you've taken my skin as its single organ (peeled up and then put down again) but it's never quite the same again, am I?
something big is gonna happen over my dead body