you are caught between transmissions
beautiful mute, a silent film on pornographic reel.
the bottoms move in musky light like strange beasts,
breasts toss in waves.
elapsing in lisped desire, drowned but still intact
a muscled rolling of arm conceals your face-
framing the stubborn clip of jaw, the jaw
framing the stubborn face your mother slapped.
you left with a backpack full of crayons,
room frantic and purple, like the skin around her eyes.
the hairless baby of your cunny
meets mouth after mouth in echo of the silence
above; the panic rooms of your eyes
are empty. no one goes there to escape anything.
the small bow of your mouth plays string-
an enduring note pitched too high to bear,
turned like the rim of an unused cup, clean of this mating.
the long line of your tongue on phallis,
the tender soles of small feet
your father tickled with his greying beard.
your legs move scissors, oiled and stripped
mined to their exhaustion, forgotten ballet lessons
flickering along your muscles like phosphorescent fish.
the tiny caves of your nose breath shallowly if at all;
i think you hold your breath.
a corrupt seizure of film, grainy and absolute,
determined to seal you shut.
your mouth, your eyes, the startling demure lines
of your fingers-
all trapped this way on film.
you roll silently in sperm, anchored
to bottom feeders with your heavy breasts
and solemnly pink and white vagina,
opened and left agape, like an unwanted Valentine.
your mouth strains the highest appeal, it's tiny bow red
slicked on the places we call private.