Sweat

Opened her legs to my
jagged
circumstances,

square dances with
devils who want nothing more than
to be human,
self-abusive
Christians who render
procreation punitive.

As soon as it’s
over; the
sweat down
your navel is

another nasal love
made forever
unavailable.

Unstable hope destiny
gave her
enough rope to
hang her dreams on
white picket
fences,

their

unfinished sentences
living proof
bedroom windows from
which we watch
the sun rise rarely
complete
the picture.

If she could
start from
scratch,

the lethal
mixture of loneliness and
penetration
would stop running
adjacent

to
warm body
hat-tricks.

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