The TV keeps repeating itself:
a monotone bible spoken aloud from a screen
and a couple of cable chords.
Here,
the trees grow over the curved slopes of the mountains like a fire.
Like a calculus equation.
The stomach of an orange that was ripe then
is now rotten,
the rind still stuck between my teeth.
My love and I like to put our jaws
up to one another’s
so we can feel ourselves chew.
His name pressing my tongue
further into your mouth
until I could feel your gums
like a thick forest of roads:
unraveling.
The sun fills his bedroom
like water being poured into a glass.
His eyes always have this look of boredom,
always high,
as he touches me slowly
and then slower
and
then
slower.
I hate the way his stomach
digests loudly
and I can hear it
from across the room.