by Leeroy Berlin
if you’d have read the manual you’d have
known you could find it writ in the fingers
or the cells that hold past, present, and the
future in acid and vitriol poured
out to the sands; and a kiss might tell you
all that science could of erections and
chemicals and the lifespan of offspring;
her attraction a reaction to measures
teased by tongue, reduced where oxidized
where rust is lubricant, love circean
illusion cast by a lingual wand waved
tonsils to teeth to waive quaint notions of
quaint honor and gawain’s too nevermind
soulmates, but taste and you’ll know where love starts.
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