Wastelands. Uterine waters. Sweet hubris

licks the roof of my mouth; which is to say,

I’m the one who puts the “price” in priceless.

Twitch is to J: thirst we muck, then we pray.

Face down. Nape exposed. Dread bite the pillow,

biscuit. Brunt kiss; undo madness. Your slender

moistures flood unto squelches; spit-muck’s flow

spreads and splurges, whilst one crooked-stack finger

unknots the curve where you strum, drum and squirt.

Cruel? Yes, like how shadow, that fell organ,

sloughed that sough. Vast. Which is to reinsert

me in you. E ‘n U. Go Uterine!

“Dear Spit-Muck (that I first named Clit-Suck) how

I miss you? Which is to say: sough that slough.”