In the tender waking hours/coming on like a fever/blistering and with your hair/or mine/in my mouth with/your thumb against the underside of my chin/grazing against the torn plaster of the bathroom wall/pushing back against the edge of the tub/now your hand/the size of my skull/and where you could crush/rather you cradle/the arch of my back/naked chest against your chin/and a thousand lit cigarettes/if I’d let you/

And the beast of our bodies/morose and unrelenting/moves together now/as one/my limbs a trophy/hung over your shoulders and above your head/antlers/or the head of a doe/ with Ceres watching on/through the window/a glimpse/of autumn/now a full forest fire/as you press your open palm/down against my throat/dappled in the splintering light weaving/through the half bare trees/and my breasts/heaving in rhythm/to the pagan drum/with the wheel of the season/thudding on/ for what feels like hours/blood moon in the sky like a wounded gum socket/turns a wreath behind your head/