Take my hand and
trace the lines in my palm
like a map of the constellations,
star-crossed.
Criss-cross your signature
in red ink
(that ballpoint pen they used
for marking essays),
sealed with my thumbprint in wax.
Whisper it with comet breath; or
text messages of bursting plasma,
or pelting rain — the breadth
of us. Boil my shifting
sands to glass, your
starlight reflected as you lean in
(if a star had passed,
I would've wished for that).
//
Under the moon,
you bite off my lips and
swallow my teeth one by one.
You gorge yourself on me, entirely;
amply seasoned by the look
you gave me in my room
(the one that melted me like
cooking fat).
Distend your stomach
to hold me close; so that our
heartbeats meet
in the loose ends of your intestines.
Tallow drips
from your mouth into
a muddied mirror's surface,
reflecting back your sallow,
starlit face as mine;
the stars are pinpricks of
kidney stones, of metal
and misshapen bones
(as always, I've been eating my own tail).