I bleed for months at the temple doorways so you’ll let me in.
I am tracing the vermillion border of your lips with my finger.

We are warm dunes of Martian pink snow. I want to know,
‍what would you get on your knees for? I haven’t asked because

the answer is not me. You are trying to control time. Slow it.
Speed it. Like a nature documentary in reverse, you burgeon

then seed. Why know me, then strange me? Why not keep me
strange and never know? The sun rises the same way on days

I’ve told lies. You lean in to touch and kiss my sinister side.
Tonight, the moon is eel skin wrapped in cellophane,
or a dancing cartoon elephant whispering:

‍be warned, I have barely any tenderness left.
Tho, I’d give you what I have, if you asked for it