Bring Black Rice

You neck me 

with calligraphy cuts

romantically red, silent,

and scythed in

a line unbreakable:

I'll take you away from here.

But I scab

into Supple’s slut—

fresh flesh to

finger and fuck :

blame and blemish. Thus

I pick to bleed. My histamine inflames

so singeing your loved letters rise

and remind Rigor Mortis

to marry us.

I gush

to be your staleheart, 

skipping—with you—

every 

beat.