Lips

mutilated lips give a kiss on the wrist of the worm like tips of tentacles expanding in my mind. i'm fine, accepting only fresh brine. you can get another drop of this, (yeah, you wish.)-ween

tentacles
(jagged edges of you) reach out
attempt to touch the insides of them
around you.
Never close enough to let them touch you back,
of course.

It was you,
planting wet kisses with your mutilated lips
on the hairy back of an unconscious feeling.

straddling its hips
you would have raped it if you could have turned it over,
could have grasped it with any sort of assurance

but it was further from you
(your sharded tentacles
your bleeding eyes
your mutilated lips)
even than that velvetly nocturnal
whole
unscathed
one you used to be