
no, that won't do
i'll chart you at night
map a course through
deep red arteries
in search of the mother lode
discovering treasures at bends
even you never knew existed
between silken folds
pearls in my hands
amid your pleated branches
and arched back
in the morning
i'll dust the sleep from your eyes
before i knead your bones
underneath milk white dresses
bake my bread inside your ribcage
next to your heart of molasses
then plumb you up against the wall
and iron you with my lips
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