Probing, wasting missionary fingers, along my body
their haste still lingers. All night long, just two short
hours, speaking of the sort of powers that walk
between daylight and starbreak, just another imagined
site I will never take home. Some part of this city
bodies are being sold, mine was boldly stripped down
to fresh bit nails found more sales along my skin and
where I’ve been for these past hundred minutes;
far past limits.
Sixty-five miles per hour, beneath that towering free-
way I believe my body one hundred thirty times
did begin to pray that it was not it but another whose
fits of nighttime hubris were being given away to
pay off that abyss that comes behind closed eyes
and after pried thighs…