Goddamnit Kate—
after years
there are definitely days
where
rather than love me—I'd sooner
have you
simply go
screw yourself up—wide
sour and
huge like a whirlpool—
all around the million
or so
greasy little globs of me—
pinning
each of them—hard
fast and
like hell—
to every last
boundary of your vast
and prodigiously
pungent volume;
all for the sake
of re-
creating regularly—a pretty
dang usable—
ephemeral solution.
