ARMAGIDEON TIME

I present to you a body of luscious keratin and a bassline,       

                                                                                             reggae, rugged, & running.

Gold-tipped ringlets for your fingers to savor and destroy.

We ignore the black pilling sheet beneath us.

What a surprise that a clit comes with long polishable accents,

                                                            lashes plush as pillows,

                                                            and an imperceptible goatee.

Open blinds expose voyeur vines while you share your theory,
                                                         explaining how we measure other things—biceps, feet,

                                                                                                                           hands, & teeth.

Don’t let anyone tell you yours is small.

You sputter something about the position of the stars & the moon,
stopping when my hands slide over your shoulders and down your back.
It’s too dark for vines to see.