She armed me

as we cusped through

vogues of rankled houses.

I wrote bloody murder

on her wrists with a heavy

tongue, penning love-spat letters

to a sip of blue roots.

A slap of bird rucked the window.

She needled me

and moonlight whittled

a pearled pool for us to sleep by.

I arched. She

beaked my wet throat,

weeding like a bat,

and fanged me between the

ribs.