you enter me again
and my dreams open drawers with forgotten treasures
here there is a switchblade and some lingerie
and tiny satin pillows for kittens to lay their heads and play
you are wet like mud for my empathy
and as the crust forms my skin softens like cheap perfume
it must be comforting to penetrate the gaze of someone without boundaries
like a general who gallops arrogantly into a nation's grief
i am holding the unopened jar of your unfolding
because i know your void is an earth of serpents hunting -
it is like me to lick the whip of your cream from a cold spoon
as laying in the folds of my bed conjures a serene cloud
bursting, ripe and leaking
like a persimmon swelling
late in season
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