The skills burst like blistering skin
in a hayseed summer. Beached whales

wail. Let me begin again. My skills
have gone by the wayside, I can't begin

to tell you why. Call me your number
one stunner and wrap me to sleep.

This carnivorous atmosphere reeks
of that from which I run away. Opaque'd

oxygen, hydrate me here and here where
these patches flake clean off, making their

escape with time and disrepair. Did we
have our fun yet? My pet—I can't call you that

because every single housecat stays at my side,
kneads the denim'd cover of my thighs.

I'm afraid you'll never be the mother
of the children I rarely think of fathering.

I let nothing else in. I don't know why I'm bothering.