I have swallowed down ghost eggs; my lips dunes
gagging you down. I’m defiling. Defiled
in so many ways, so many shapes, tunes,
concord and chaos. Sink to your knees, child,
the space that you occupy (raw, sublime)
is just wrong; like glow-bugs spattered across
your windscreen. Dunes are moving all the time,
but you can’t tell; even within the chaos
of the orgasm you find no wisdom.
Pity. The things that anchor me down mean
nothing to you. Dust-mote sperm, twig of clit,
dry rub. The living are humorless, glum,
tasty. Watch me roll broken shell between
my lips and swallow. Watch me swallow it.