He is wired for
sour fruit dessert, weaving black and blue
cables through his heart.
A stripper and his peach syndrome
parted, in him, desire from fear.
he can swallow rose petals better
than any absorbent
he steps more lucent than any
I have pledged allegiance to his hands,
his stubble shadow.
I demand his tongue
where his voice spreads thick,
where his deluxe firewater is served,
where his skin sheds to brace life,
If God cannot dampen my dry, callous skin,
maybe this sad Electrician can.