Honeysuckle lip grazes my neck;
Body a pasture for her feasting. We dine,
Then, let ambiguous tunes hammer our
Corkscrew bodies into alliance — dance
Because we can(’t).
Night tumbles over features as we breathe in
Hot syllables. Kiss: tongue dyed stygian.
So cryptic I fold at the sound of her voice,
Sounding like mine.
Come the sun, rushed as always. It oxidizes
Us till my lungs bloat with the scent of a girl.
Leaves at dawn and I don’t ask for her name.
Should I have?
Perhaps the nectar pool she left behind, cupped
Between the hollows of my collarbone, is surname
Enough. I sip from it like mama does holy water.
Bees exhaust sweet divine from my Atlantic — filtering
Through skin. Where I’m from, we wash down bumbles
Like one would pills: handfuls at a time, choking.
Mama presses her lips to my forehead. As if
Checking for fever. She asks who it is. I tell her he
Kisses well. Silence cowers as if only then will I hear
Her name.
My nails are spotted with dirt, hoarded over years of
Digging a grassland in coal. Let me honor the untitled
Abiding in trachea. Funneling.
This stranger of a girl can graze all she wants, I say.
