][
Jah, what would you say to a shy girl’s prayers,
eeked out each hymn, each blood-clot hemorrhaging
niece. In silk-stained clouds; a world of nightmares,
                                 ][
milkweed pods and sexed regimens. Fucking
results in nothing. There is no magic
when the witch is bored. One. Your clothing grows
                                 ][
small. Two. Tilt your head back. Now three. You’ll lick
what I put in there. These bottled freak shows
beggar the dead, it is our job to kiss
                                 ][
them back to life. Cave in. Carve out. Forget
that you have a husband, children, lifeless
marriage. Shy girl. Let’s be what the dead miss;
                                 ][
a spot of blood, wipeout. Us getting wet
comes like this: orgasms without malice.
                                 ][