3.

how many times i must say your name

for it to sprout as a tooth in my mouth:

the collision of tongue and teeth,

my lips parted the diameter of an eclipse.

let me attach my mouth to the zipper,

breathe life to those syllables,

sealing the splinter in swollen mauve sky,

trickling like a hungry stream;

a drought on my tongue amidst the july heat.

2.

you are my high school sweetheart,

chin tucked in the dip of my shoulder,

warm cocoon of breath against my cheek.

hands, wrists, teeth,

piece me together wordlessly in the biting night,

ceiling ajar as the sea of stars drowns our bodies,

cradled in her constellation-etched womb.

1.

we paint theories with our mouths parted

in tepid exhalence; weave tales with the finger

winding like a tendril around the thigh, ampersand

linking tongue & flesh: lulling in its rhythm,

air pricking your lungs. a guttural gasp, oh!:

flick of the tongue, droplet of spilled ink, the sentence halts, sharp.

you breathe the dangling capital of another letter into my skin.

0.

how many times must i say your name to rememorize:

the way your knuckles locked with mine, hands clasped

in repose. our eyelids glistening with some lost vision of

tomorrow as the pitter-patter of your pulse rumbles in my ears.

we are a ticking time bomb;

the world ruptures between our lips.