tick-tock jettisoned for a blossom, a wither

some ambidextrous Lover smoothes

city-wrinkled foreheads
those poor puckered things
and un-bottles a tempest.

potent paint,
splattered by Curiosity to weave a starred canvas
the kind that could sew shut Time’s
puppet lips if
drunken banter didn’t so amuse
this God of the western welkin.

no longer masked nor latticed, hard-hearts

give way to a tenderness like
pulp, a malleable Love with estrous hands
reproducing some meaty minute, some
lip-lock that leaves lips calyxes, tongue ellipsis:
dislodging a tempest; making pollen.

this pollen a pulse; a blossom, a wither.

no longer such poor puckered things giggles (that, this, some) God.
(kaput! moniker) Resurrected without riposte

inside your--my?-- palindrome’s aviary ticks the tock

-ing whore (wiggles waxen eyebrows, jiggly tush): I
an eye for an elbow for a bunion
bones deformed (pointed toe, grand battemant,
triple pirouette in exchange for matchwood):
lesions and stigmas form a nebula

some days I explode, wait

for the soot to form stars where scarred

hard-drives = moments wiped clean, i.e.: watching you
watch the cherry stem knotted by my
tongue
gigabytes defunct my

hands are shaking, clandestine, while eye wiggles, giggles,

indulges the cognomen, seventeen & pole-dancing
a mine I once de-vowed .?