i was in a dirt hole or clasped on
a napping road-trip road.
palpitating thru the lines or bones
on the ground, or underneath.
i found her heart in a rat pile
flapping like loose mother-skin
grieving with the last milk oval
on the whelps tongue.
are above me, like you
in a circlet of whore-stars,
teeth for deep space.
a belligerent isolation embraces
me and i am born in bright black.
i stare into the sun and when i
shut my eyes, it winks back
and it will never leave.
my love was a thousand shells
in salt on earth. i was the killing jar.
the beat of sunflower wings
in cement initials.
samantha lucero 2018 ©