XY

WELL SHE AIN'T.

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1. XY

i would paint the twisting chromosomes
of myself
onto your skin
to find compatibility within
those freckles.

our dots connect.

she will press herself
light, and like a posy
between the pages and the pages and the pages
of your lint-laden dreams.

i would sweep you off your feet in a tidal wave of sex.
my tears — corrosive,
wash her away and carve my own initials
into your tree-trunk limbs.
i would kill you
between moments of orgasm.

our bodies collide.

she will cry her own tears,
but that bitch ain't magic like me.

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