sharp
blood and you
pray
upon us
with
inuit instincts. i remember
when
you were dancing
in
my liquid arms with squinted
heartbeats
and beating new eyes.
here
on my skinned wall you
paint
your fears with thunder
blood.
you compromised me into
labor
like littles and forgot to
sing
to distance's foggy eyes;
the
litter was unique until
we
undid the past nocturnals
of
our servant tombs.
so
i will be your serpent
skin
and fight off the
grey
wind tease. this
poem
had no presence in
our
past.
