I say, “She who starts with an abattoir’s
knife ends with allure.” That’s cheap. Perhaps. Love
curls in me, though: muscles, sweat, cum, bargain-
floor booze. You trace all my bruises and scars.
I’m off my tits on mandrake root, foxglove
and wormwood. Perhaps love is an omen.
Perhaps love begins as a Stone Butch; ends
in glory — We start all this with someone
who can break us by accident. My friend
who walks on goaty-girl legs and cloven
hooves, who says that she’s an uncouth butcher —
Hacker of meat — Curved fire — Gloriosa
blooms — Riotgrrl — Afropunk — “El olor
de mi coño” — Vulva Furiosa.
“El olor de mi coño” translates into “the odor of my cunt”