Unseasonable Lust

(Being a Canada Dry mistranslation of December Love by Randy Blasing.  No permissions sought or gained)

In some specific temporal location, as is your wont,
you fall me down from trees to be hoovered up
someday, invent something to believe how I whittled
a blood pump out of the frozen water, smoking pot and feeling faint,
that left cheek of your ass…

See things through, so that when Eurydice disappears you’ll total
the organs I misplaced in you [ampersand] you had right
ass cheek too- as you read J G Ballard and shifted up a gear.

In blunt falsehood, the sentiment you imbibed at that time
was your hymen when it broke into tears that streaked
at the Coal Cats game against the Canaries, I had made you come
from where I flipped you the bird, your clitoris

etched on transparent surfaces as if for good. My heart is italicised
for your emphasis, it talked to me when we had our meltdown,
reading aloud from our collection of celebrity gossip magazines
as my own words raced to lay out banana skins; black face under my feet.

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