I sleep like a child,
though you hold me, still,
ignoring the fetal aggravation
of my bare back, the ridges of my spine.
Though you hold me still,
I shudder like the thunderstorm
my bare back, you rigid against my spine.
Trembling, trembling, electricity in my bones.
I shudder. Like the thunderstorm
of hips and hisses, the mattress is
trembling, trembling. Electricity in my bones
sparks there by your wet touch.
Of hips and hisses, the mattress is!
It is the grave of anger, that baptism of sighs
sparked there by your wet touch
so I sleep like a child.














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