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She has a Hollywood inside her,
           it turns me. He is a falconer’s apprentice,

but I’m gone before the mice defrost. Another,
           a Craigslist ad on the bough of a willow.

My lovers are all classrooms
           in the same kindergarten. A golden spoon

of glue for you, and you, a bicycle
           ride down my miles of legs. Did you know

it would get this dirty?—when I met you
           in Intro to the English Major? When you

slid into my Uber? At the music festival?
           Tonight?—I’m going to put a poem

right where your thing should be, okay?
           Our safe word is Max Seifert. I like my lovers large,

I like to fit my lovers inside my lovers.
           Breath of leg hair. Rub of jock salt. Then, enter

my kinks like a Chinese New Year parade.
           You’re inside of me inside

of a growl—fresh fruit & control. I’m getting off
           on gravity, touching you there, pulling you

here.  This whole thing is driving me crazy: hot
           to the point of electricity, tectonic,  slippery

when wet, chickenbones everywhere,
           & imagination.

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