In bed with Reverend Powder, pajamas tangled between her knees, waiting for the heat man, stealing; in bed with my mortality, pagan in the face of listless snow, waiting for comfortable confinement, bleeding; in bed with Lindsay Morrison, my heart pulled up through my pores, flowering like a blindness, frying; in debt to limitless emoting, in debt to those contorted in my tribe, in debt to carnivorous blessings, in bed with agate tans, in bed and on top of me, in the devil’s lesson-book, on top of me and through me; in death nipples egg, pajamas tangled around my throat, on top of me throw me away, on top of me kill me; when you crack an egg the albumen trickles across your fingers, that is the coldness affixed to my cock bleeds essence, when you crack an egg and the juice runs down your leg; pulling, bursting, tightening, furthering, twitching, blossoming, thickening, conjoining, convolving, commingling.

Baby baby, baby baby; pajamas pulled back, drowned in oceans of her turbulent hair.