that your closeness wasn’t edible, empty
the way the stomach retches for your, spews
ist hunger for this high-whining tone
on every German frequency, spews

spews -

I wanted to vomit for happiness
with your melting blob of margarine
inside me, in step with the thrusting
pale as a ghost

like, left an right of the bed,
the genuine cow’s-bladder-lamp-shades