there is no logic without a god
to hold it against--i turned you into a prayer
because you were sweet to the roof of my mouth
and when i breathed in i breathed in your shadow,
because you rolled like an orange between teeth,
so frail, so flavorful.
but a god's logic is not our logic. the roll of you
against the dental crest, as if when i said your name
i touched you, or thought of you.
as if i could love you without mouthing more
than your name. i lay in a borges dream
soaked in blood, fist-deep in flowers,
breathing weary as a tiger
against the bars of an
interdental cage.
and the seed twisted
hyacinthine
between the jail of my ribs
fed on nothing but the blood of your name
and the flower of my breath.