Volatile jerks of her
Dusty white neck does nothing to the
Holographic
Chin-length hair,
Brown and then black—
Molded in its shape,
Never fluid when I see her—
Freeze frames
Flip comics.
Every third blink
She’s plastered against my
Back and rigid arms.
Every second blink, she hisses—
Straight into my pupils
You know what I am,
You know who I am.
Eight-hundred blinks— her flaking neck
Pushes against my nose,
Every blink
I inhale powder until it escapes my mouth—breathing ashes,
Sinewy fingers pry my mouth open
Wider—
Until she burrows her holographic hair into
My pulsating throat,
Climbing in.
Eight-hundred breaths—her feet
Pump my lungs,
You know, you know.
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