we baste within moonlight
until bodies are good and moist,
good, nappy and made the most natural.
look: raven has gotten into the melons again
the rinds are left in ruins. we are the slurry
that gathers beneath, feeding ant and worm.
as rain, our ochers are everywhere
like a comfortable collage: this one i call
‘odalisque in three stages of decomposition’.
you always refuse to close your mouth:
the cawing. the cooing. our nocturnal cries
worn smooth as we lean in for kiss.