My Floorboards Creak Incessantly
Your nomadic back
ascends
the biting reality
of my flesh—
catcall my goosebumps
as you scale the
hailing peaks
littering my being.
Explore my moaning
oration—
what is the scathing
devour in your depths
and how can I release
my own?
Modern muse,
pluck daisies from my
skin
for the absence of
fecundity is thematic
in your teething gnaw
on my ankles,
my
calves,
my
discovered ligaments.
Brew your angled arch
in my back
and revert to foe,
seize what you refer to
as
the culmination of
mutual benefit.
Dedicated deviation
courses through our mangled plains.
We debate
who
pushes,
who
pulls;
we debate
the nature of splitting
stones
and terra-cotta
taxonomies
(what really is
cosmogony
and the violence in our
pantheon—
our Genesis is pure
chaos).
The would-you-rathers
dramatically
shift
to rights-and-wrongs.
So
tear me apart.
I have only one
objection:
in solidarity
I worship my own beast
and have no room for yours.
So as you claw at my
internal diaspora
to milk and honey,
remember that I am
Nothing
but a body,
wrought with
obscenities.
Nothing
but the wonder
of an inherently fickle
tempest
that rustles in tall
grass
and is unbridled for
our time being.
But I digress.