The Kisser

As in, in the, of course. The body knew

the drill by now. Was are we there yet and then

never been so, then so long. Heart tied

with twine, with shorthairs, trip wires—whispered that bind.

Drew the short straw, scared herself apart

to spit-sweet shards and into time that counted

backwards from two lips ago. Said done

is done and is between me and those teeth.

Some little story about dignity.

We’re there yet. Said trussed me. Body the white flag,

body the pulley. Hoist up and sang to beat

the heart back down again—stick-stone, stick-stone.