Danielle Pafunda
from The Desire Spectrum is Dead to Me Now



Here is the lover: he is carved like a mantis.


If you limb him, it will be eight-point-four

years before they stop you.


Here is the lover: a mouthful

of nettles, smelling like bleach.


Here: crouping your name in the backseat,

tucking you pins and wings against the steering column.


How sticky I’ve been on your account, lovers.

With dead saps, with stupid little cells

in such a repulsive multitude.


What did I think?


My hole was magic?