in which i coat myself
thickly: zinc a nail deep.
as if
sheltering
within poison--
my lips a snakebit red,
their juices surging
just under skin,
for you, my spice,
dried in hot memory:
equatorial baking
of your face, your voice--
i slam husks of you against a stone floor,
hoping for shock, to force a chill,
but all that breaks is
my voice--
and it speaks your name,
lips wet
with juice.
veronica. veronica. veronica. veronica. veronica.