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.