not talking, as a condition— (a dedication…)

sensual glutton, where is your devil?

stuck between the ridges of your palm and eyes?

gnarled between your teeth?

remember you are the sprig and the fountain,

 you relax in the color of your own mathematics,

you pain out your happy because healing is not what you do/

you exaggerate numbers only to divide your legs into an obtuse/

aren’t you (a)cute, 

all 90 degrees of, 

“it wasn’t me, it was my upbringing!”

stay safe with a switchblade between your knuckles, 

pierce the tongues of those that speak too close and too wild/

hooligans have no place inside you, 

but there they are again,—

dripping down your thigh/