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.
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