She used to fuck me with her eyes
Watching her stare back at me
was like feeling her perineum
flex against my tongue
I’d take all the words she said,
and listen for the inaudible whimpers
of what she longed (like dreams) to scream
into the side of my head
as her insides were massaged
by my thick desire for her nearness
She used to make sure I was looking
before starting the stars spinning
Going silent supernova
in casual conversation was her way
Her pupils would dilate like a universal
mother’s cervix, birthing a black hole
which I was destined to fire myself into
night after lightless night,
until I stopped existing just long enough
to feel only the warm glow of her lips
She used to spellbind me with autumn irises
Her fall glances burned with all the smoke
of a witch-filled forest
She never failed to say my name
like a wish she was hanging her hopes on
Maybe if I’d been born yesterday,
I could have missed the bed in her thoughts,
but I’d been dreaming of lying there
with her since I first became a man
Thus, the truest love I’ve known
is my eyes screwing her in return
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