the crest of hip, two ridges rise and
stomach pools between them, rippled like a glass lake.
the bump of ribs; speed bumps, wooden logs, things that make you go
left hand pushing down onto the mattress, left hand pushing left hip like
sweet around the seeds.
the combination hidden
your fingertips graze the lip
of paper, almost.
i am a long, deep well
few have reached
in accidental discovery or clumsy
i slither like a snake around myself,
watch movies too dirty to be relatable, clean.
pour jasmine between my legs and
cock-back my jaw
my own tail.