Several inches above the topography

of twisted sheets, I levitate—

pistachio green, a mouth-full of pine

needles and orange peel fungus.

Salt water and wolfbane stews

in the cochlea of my left ear until I tug

that earlobe down, feeling the warm

drip down my neck. I live in the wake

of beauty, tripping over the filament

of someone else’s fur, their shining black eyes

and smoky breathing. So fertile.

Beneath the elastic of skin, chlorophyll pounds

my bones, yellow and daffodil-honeysuckle,

choking eyes from my skull.

I can’t remember the names

of the plates that make up a human skull.

This is what the lake might feel

when it evaporates beneath the sun

floating in clouds.

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