I made a crude vessel, a trough my sweetheart.
Shiny pigs, the knives went rooting in the muck of me.
Thorax divided neatly, they nudged aside intestines braided thick,
the way we do your hair.
You lay in the midst my precious, a moist sienna fist.
In your anger you unfurled to howl your proof.
Then the muscled map refolded, bulkier than before,
men took a ragged filament and closed the edges of your door.
And there's more. Jugs of blood my darling, the inner glue.
Skin cells fluttering and nervous signals that rattle down the spine.
Ears and nose – the cartilage of attraction – and piercings:
Unexpected routes inside.
Oh it's a messy job beloved, and a strange soft pocket
for a soul.
Atop it all, the seething brain my angel, where your face remains
the indefinite article of my affection. I wrench myself awake from dreams
you still coil within, safe as a tongue in its groove.
Ah but things slip away from us, love.
You’ll come to know. And careful, when you buckle girl
which way you roll.
