When I turn the screw on the device
nipple clamps
your lips pull clear of teeth
it takes years to decipher the puzzle tree
its spindles — not uniform but jagged.
we nestle in the abdomen
the hills of flesh
bright lunar slab above
the serrated shrieks
like dogs rutting
“fetch a bucket of water”
but it is more than sex
more than breeding
more than the cigarette smoke
curling around the lampshade
I should turn the screw
one last full rotation
watch the tears form
run like rainwater
down the sluice of your face
.
.
