Even your entropy is rigid,
the lymph gurgling behind
your prostrated smile,
the admonishing aftertaste
of your subcutaneous adhesions.
Skinflint, star-caster, striptease
my thighs pulsate beneath
your extraneous gravity and what a let down,
what a climax, what a keepsake it all is.
The tobacco churning behind your lip,
turmeric-spiced silt sticking in your nail beds,
the subtle admonishment of your filaments
breaking me like a riding saddle.
How vile, how terrible, how irrefutable you are.
Must you control everything?
Must you crush the throats that sing?
Must I, the shameless, the purse-string, the mule-headed thief
love you, contend with you, worship the soles
of your endless retreats?
managed to barely get one in