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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.