Who was going to say science
mouth, when you lick ambrosia from
your fingertips, and feline tongue
the ambrotype clean.
Or else, sigh séance moth
shudder, and rub rubies
against me, electrical quiz
for lovers at the carnival.
We idle in blue dusk. You let
each ringtone go, and I’ve
(three times we’ve said goodbye, kissed
goodbye that many times)
a smoky look for the spherical
punk and his paranymph
in the parking deck, violations of
Near the guillotine crew, the wax
aristocrat, thumbscrews, and gull
of spikes, my voice in
this channel, yours in the other.
Through a sordid hallway, the mouth of
a wooden pig, piled
with wergild, I’ll stroke