if i could heat you up to a thousand degrees,
charcoal brickette, the end of a cigarette,
i would bind you to my hands and feet
and while your energy melted into mine,
i would make a run for it.
***
neon paint stains driving down your baby's chair. frothy little leg hairs, he is your mammal. you wonder when your great masterpiece will arrive. green dot grass sprouts, brings you home, makes you sick, sick with love. roof-top's shy song, rain wants to come in, rain wants to arrive, to spit in your perfumed hair. your baby is a man, older than yourself, who keeps your stuffy head dry.
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