I desire nothing more than to lie here
with death on your chest.
I swooned to be seen so naked on
this aquarium glass, where my fishtail and voice come
into each other to create a perfect song of
androgeny,
while my breath slips through my gills and past your teeth
into your throat.
I'm bound to this
promise of silence and detachment,
With my heart on your tongue,
razed and revised,
the blood can rush to pool
in circular rings of
that fateful bite,
like of the gardens where the damned
raced towards
vaginal magnetism.
All this inscribed in cannibalized runes on my inner thighs,
hidden by bone and scale of hyrbidity of the
mind
of the
body
of the symbolic images
inscribed in places of another
plane.
Dismembered here, my legs lie useless
the vessels strewn outwards hint only of
offers to war.
Here the psychics chastise with expressed pollution
in exchange for their infinite wisdom of gender divisions on the crown,
bringing me back to reality with that useless old
ritual
that you place on your fighting hand
before it stifles the breathe in my throat.
Lungs of tar-black self-destruction,
are
useless to this stumbling fish girl dying of
oxygen.