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He makes a steaming cup of me
to drink alongside the morning paper,
then lathers me up to be his accomplice
under the head of a shower.
I am gentle on his tongue,
and foam between his shoulder blades.
He tells me, “I don’t want to be happy.”
His words have lines.
I am slim enough to slide between them.
(-Negative) Big Bang
Our bed is an ocean basin
where complex cells begin their life;
plants and bodies have plans for takeover,
and you promise me a Cambrian explosion.
Our world is the size of a seed,
but I am an uninhabitable planet.
You say that it’s okay;
the world does not need more life.
I crack like an egg and dispose of the goo
of our new species into your chest.
Organization
When we eclipse,
he makes a brand new sun.
In the ice age,
we survive on his rations.
He has no reason to care
but he saved an entire universe
for us to live in.
We are a body,
a unit,
a system,
primed to survive extinction.
Eutrema
His sore feet make sojourns on my back
until my spine sweats a narrow strip of bone.
He holds me to his chest while his own skin sweats
like spice for the sake of my ray of light.
He wants me to want to be alive.
Each Day He Watches Me Burn
House built on a hill.
Windows cracked and black.
Make a fire in the kitchen to be honored between his legs.
We kiss and we gleam and come here.
Then he makes me burn the house down.
I remove my feet from the ash. We will start again tomorrow.
His hands may be flame, but my body is forged of iron.
