just to the left

if i could i would take your fingers

and slide them prettily down past

my throat

and just to the left, there

raking my skin into an orange fever --

above where an unplucked breast

aches fast for your attention:

just to the left, there.

that is my weapon of choice,

that is the reason for all i do

and if your infinite fingers are

there

then it is in such disarray

as it short-circuits out of necessity

pounding on through the rib cage trap

some creator made for it --

there, that is your answer

to how i feel

if you want to know.

08.2011