She

lives inside  her head
somewhere around my heart
her head maybe  is my heart
or only maybe her teeth
puncture it

her feet sparrows balanced
on the inverse root of my cock
where sometimes
with a gleaming moonlight knife
she dances

sometimes
demure  she blushes away
from what I seem  sometimes
she bellies a raucous laugh
harpy crone coyote-woman

a splash of salted sport
over penile presumption
over pretence of potency
white lily red rose thorn she is
a drop of blood
she craves
the lesbians who trust me
she lusts  she

urges me in reluctant
pursuit of gay beautiful men
who flee  she is not
a façade a mockery a fey parade
Shakespeare in drag she is not
the sham she likes to say I am
she is the real thing honey  and oh
how her piano plays that honky-
tonk that estral rag she

is an isthmus of reality
where all that is left of me
must tread if not to wet its feet
in the tide  vestigial backbone
impaling screw  scarecrow skeleton
that my true love body
doting
flaps upon

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