Is like dwelling in the skin of a crash test dummy,
flinging your forehead into the steering wheel of the world,
your plastic salmon fingers on my enamel thigh.
We're like dumb dogs running snout-first
into windowpanes, our tails still taut and waving like
a victory flag -- a salute to Pabst and Chinese takeout.
Now I can write about my first love like a meteor
suspended in air, falling out of my brain's orbit,
dissolving, as I nosedive into my rum and coke the way
a falcon would hunt its prey, ripping its guts out
in an orgasmic, dizzy feast. In my carnal stupor,
I never minded losing it.
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