Go down
very far down
to the bottom of the sea
I shuck you off
zip up my boots
think of corn husks and masa and chili staining madder root
lips tarnished from pleasuring you
friend without the benefit of youth
I make you come even when you’re done
leash between us yoked at the throat
pain has long learned not to show
as macular degeneration steals acuity
we are what we want to see
but you are a poor vintage
you don’t convince the blind
we who cover ourselves in your outpouring
know more of you than crows
lining hot wire
know of the sky