living for the shake of my maw, or maybe thats what the maw would like to think.
drivin still, through eyes – their redness, their wheezing fade into the background, imagination perks up, sitting up, eyes transferred into spine and I can become antsy for the spinning (and an I does)
fashioning myself ready to receive my lovers again in a quiet way \ not the passing bedmates, the Lovers far, who call out to me, not grab and reach, but sing somewhere and in just the right way that my atoms and whatever else vibrate humbly to receive, as they have done, as they do—(do they too vibrate from the tremor of a future kiss, or a world-stopping embrace?)