she gets fucked
by a tea-cup
everynight when palm-frond
motherfuck gets back
from nowhere,
he of the sapphire tongue
and doleful eyes.
he likes to spoon her
sugar for her,
swishes it in with a
gyroscopic motion,
swish swish swish.
like a "YES YES YES"
pounding the inside of
my porcelain brain.
that's the sound of connectivity,
and fuck,
if that's not love then blue
shades of face surely
twist into heart maps
to the soul,
of fists and fucks. yes?
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