Manufacturing Love

What if I look up
and a
corpse dangles?

What if the nail
sits tighter
around my lips?

What if your kiss
makes me
lose the words?

“I Saw in Louisiana a live oak growing.”

“You need a lion
to touch the
blood dripping behind
the leaves.”

“You need a lion
to see the
flesh hiding in
the bank.”

“You need a lion
to smell the
groans cloaking
the branch.”

“Where is the lioness, mon amour, where is she?”

You turn me around.
The funk of your
lips on the
hollow of my breasts.
The fingers do their
work. The skin
learns to melt.
I try to stare
at the yellowed
moon and the
dewdrop girl
tangoing on the
map of the
wall. Floral shrieks
announce themselves
with not-so
insidious intent.

I slouch my
bones.
The metal of
the knees
caress the nipple
tips. The dewdrop
girl bids
farewell
to the moon.

Did you ever stop to think

What if
your touch empties
me of my
words and
skins?