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8. alternations 

 
 
i want to feel your long torso, crowned by a shock 
smooth slipping under like a fish turning in death, 
of blond, not so different from my own skin undertones 
watersurface tuna rolled through the failing turbines, 
in contrast to my sun-browned hair, once black. 
 
i want to smell your sweet scent, drawing the erotic 
depth mines, gutting the hull, burned black around a gape, 
memories of a tryst in the sun's dryer, this close heat 
rising to half-mast, a cock produces sailors in lifeboats, 
held in the collapse of an old sweatshirt, left behind.
 
i want to breathe your heavy air, the excited air 
leaning on the crutches of fins, you churn, blowholes 
coming through the net of your ex-lover's desire, you 
mount the back of a dolphin, perhaps saving a life, 
should have steered clear of the coral reefs.  and 
 
i want to rake my fingers across your face, stain you 
that whore's hooks gouged holes in my belly, blood 
searing you with an impression that taints, reddens, 
corrupts the sea, a cloud of octopus ink spreads,
stalks the trails that you have lit ablaze. 



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