tonight the pigment will rise
through your skin, form in fawn
formations 		deer: your 		stockinged
shanks hang now from half-
open window & 					you slough off
			loose 			shoe
it was a slow summer
but now i crown you
in the backseat:		destructive diadem 	nestled in the thorns
of your 		hair, stuck in 
a swollen wound that seeps 				a stream
						of blood
i take it, what i’m owed, & crickets kiss your split lips with their sound:
		oh, whittled girlhood
		oh, crust of mud 
		that shapes a foot to hoof.
the sun sets on your thighs.
you stumble out & eyes
abandon pigment: sclera
floods dark oil
& in the road		deer: you 		break open
your insides burst with fur
i want to plunge my hand
inside again &					taste
		 	beast			coronation
it was a slow summer
but now i pick fine hairs
from 			between			teeth
& watch you
frail shake on roadside
gore & glisten of 		damp girl
			& dearest
that’s the thing, with men
we always forget, when 				hunting for
blood, first: 							
						flesh.