And if I enter the burning tunnel,
we’ll both crisp like egg rolls.

Is that you, writing obscenities on my bones?
Is that you, crouched in my liver, eating a Danish?

As my mother would say, child please.
I say use what you like and leave the rest

behind. This is summer now, time for the taking
of all my parts: mind funk and magnolia,

sugar in the raw and hot sauce.
Wasps gather on my wrists as you nest

in my heart, o woman-god, o you.