sweet thing,
you hang like
a chain
around my neck
like a beesting
in August
in your hollow pain
I sweat
hollowed
we wed
I’ve gone cross-eyed
and tongue-tied
at the prospect
of your lips.
like a plaid-skirt-fitted virgin
with the devil on my hips
I’d melt like a mint
in the heat of your mouth.
like a hurricane in a dress shirt
headed angry
down south
I would give anything
to be slipping
down your throat.