When my son asks who invented sex/ Britney Spears hits my lips faster than I expect.
Fire moves like someone socking you in the eye and taking your home./ You travel light and learn to duck.
What I hope for is probably impossible: to never return
The air, tasting of lemongrass/ & brine. Your feathers/ on the ground. There: the prize/
The neighbor knocks/ and knocks. I’m unavailable wearing water.
It steps hard in the mud. Its belly full/ of the crop you’d saved
His invention didn’t touch his truth—but what you want can also be your truth.
this was never/ about love if I held you in my mouth like a stone
The first body was a mistake, the second/ a signal from God.
I/ lick loose your braids/ and tremble
Your wound is kept/ exposed. Anyone who looks is invited/ to this marriage.
I wound the languages into my tongue. Clams to spit and salt/ on my molar.