come like death unto my
sex—I would take
your eyelash in my—stomach
as the light heaves down
over blue taunt hills
as sheets well up in my—fingers
like glass
the cracking of your breath
along my legs
the cracking of my rosary on the
hospital—floor
fallen like a child’s fingernails—
the fingernails dimpling—
into my pink breasts,
gasping over and over as I—die
to this sanitized dawn
the last pavilion 