Lady-like Analects

If I knew now what I did then—

Blood-blue faces, Orange in the black
light, we trade those virginity things
—give and get—

isn’t it sand, finger-sieves dumping
it on the rug, a few last grains
on our palms, which

ache to never touch again

Wanting to write about things
I’ve never known, namely
the contented seat, devoutness,

depression

There is one man I trust, beard
like over-steeped tea, the
fangs of his smell, antique

Is she here? the elevator gives everything away,
lady-like analects on black-lit fuckery

She slips her claw under my jaw,
at the hinge

makes me smile—find the emergency
stop,
my fingers already in her hair

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