Giovanni, Run

Are  we     even        bending   over   to   touch   our    feet   in   the  morning       just   out of  bed,    sleep crumbling in the     eye   crease      reticent         crescent   sun   flinching   from    kettles         releasing   the lumbar   spine   arms   hung   like   crimes   head   caressing  the  feet  with shadow        are we   even    over    ourselves      by    the      time     a    rich    man   pulls  out       his    lumpy   phallus        sneaks   in      from   behind   promising      we        like   it.          Retracing   my    steps.     Yes, I had doubled    over            yes   there      was    a  second      version   of     me     who     needed     to    see    the world     end     in   this     disheveled   matriarchy     yes     it      was  a    good   excuse      for    all   this   running     no  I  did   not   like   it        no   your   cum        wasn’t     sweet    and    right    where    it     landed          in a corpse   of moon.     I didn’t    confess   because    you   didn’t    confess.    It’s   better    waiting   for   the    secret  to   eat  you   the  way I taste it  everyday     as  our endless bluest    intimate.    Palming   the   velvet      then     clawing     it  then  laughing   like backwater  at   an impasse  about to blurt itself out and be everywhere,     Fuck   your   couch.