Wade/d through the pads of my thumbs
sweat pools itself
searching for enclosure
but enclosure overwhelmed by a pool
with a tar-like consistency
circumference bracing until
the pool to either side
tries to clear the center / too thick for clear grounding,
too large for my hands, only covered,
my mouth tongues itself relentlessly.
Hope fields of this consistency could be swayed
by oscillating pink flesh from space to space.
I, with great anxiety, wade/d, hands forcing,
thinking of that time we were soaked with water on my bedding
into one another’s pink flesh from space to space.
. . .
I collected all of the insects to bring to you,
strained from the wet -
strain out in touching,
in your favor,
a break from water,
so I thought,
unaware of how inward soaked,
and I am sure for your pleasure.
I am sure for your pleasure.
I tried to dry them inside out.