half heard, stuttering
fucker. you should be 
tied with ropes and splayed in 
harsh sun; a retching
public omen. 

i will burn the shivering tips
of your fingers. i will 
dishevel your wiry hair and tear your cashmere
sweater thread from thread. 

with you, stars rest gentle, lining 
the smooth rub of your pocket. 
your stomach swishes round a 
slippered school of sleeping fish
whose eyes catch froze blue 
with every blink.
hid deep in your rough, 
unshaved cheek flit tender birds, 
pecking light at pocked dimples.

i just for once want;
star tinked swish of legs, 
fish bellied walk, 
birdhouse stubble.