he unbuttons my shirt & i light a flame of junebugs
maybe there’s duct tape
in his pocket a butterfly
purple & knifed this a spoonful
of eleven p.m.
on a stranger’s lap
his tongue clacking
against teeth a murmur of french
bowing into cavities i see his knife
give birth
to longing our lungs tornadoes
loose behind ribs
my lips purple and fat
he a cavity of stranger
a tornado called teeth
this eleven p.m. fat spoonfuls
of butterflies taped to our tongues
