On her back
On the stretching mat,
Legs in hot-pink compression knit
Fabric, up in the air
And spread
Far apart, like a pair
Of World War II trench binoculars
Spotting artillery manned in a hedgerow, to shell the horizon

She flattens the seamless horizon of tights
From her crotch to her knees
With a practiced caress of her palms
Like she’s smoothing the folded-down top sheet
Arranged on a bed in the five-star hotel
Where her immigrant grandmother worked as a maid
When she came to the country illegally.
Manicured hands at her sides, she pumps fuchsia-clad thighs,
Up and down, up and down, spreading and closing the rabbit ears of TV antenna
Her legs suggest, the compressive force of the fibre mesh
Re-directing blood to the vertex of hips. Now I know how her vulva is set.

Splayed like a frog
That’s been pinned down and flayed
In a wax-lined dissection tray,
Limbs pressed flat on the cobalt blue mat,
She raises her legs while flexing
The muscles that keep them apart, fighting the rapist inside,
Who’s using his knee to pry them asunder.
Fingers with red-painted fingernails gather florescent light-dappled blue nylon:
The resistance of motion, the bulging desire of her
Outer labia filled with blood, and the dense innervation of flesh
Marked by conspicuous vasocongestion
Gripped in a crosshatch of threads generating compressive force.

Outer thighs
Flush on the vinyl mat,
Thrusting hips
In time with her labored breath
Make of her blood-filled vulva an EKG blip
On the flatline of my morning.
Her crotch leaks
A wet blot. The damp spreads
Like smoke from a cannon muzzle recoiling—
Boom!
The hare in the hedgerow
Tenses and swivels his ears to the fore
And spreads them wide.
Boom-boom-boom!
Her vulva is a point on the line of my horizon.
The point is the creased promontory, streaked with wet
Her mons pubis makes covered with warp and weft of compressive force.
Her eyes watch my eyes watch the dense weave of pink
Spread her crotch drool as dark threads.
Her hips jerk, her legs twitch.
The stain travels a journey
Mapped on the indiscernible grid of dense capillarity—
Boom! Boom! Boom!—
And makes of the nethermost crease a channel between us.
Through the parallel slant of mirrors in trench binoculars spread obtusely apart
The field marshal watches points on the distant horizon smoke.

Traveling separate and parallel trajectories
My cock and I meet at the vanishing point of the horizon
Of my morning, that’s her slick inflamed crease.
Her eyes plead; her crease leaks.
Her black pubic hair
Like an angry punk mohawk,
Or peaked dorsal scutes that divide the jagged back of a tortoise shell.
Outer lips
Smooth and turgid
As molded rubber, and flushed
With the silhouettes
Of maroon half-moons, inner lips in a teardrop shape
Extrude discharge that glistens as clear as slaver from panting canine jaws.
Her brown midriff, lean, laps like cream in a shallow bowl,
In time with her gasping.
From his frame on the shelf of the living room shrine
Her grandfather watches his grandson who’s holding her ankles apart in the air.
My shaft, sheathed in foreskin as thin as cling-wrap,
And topped with the spongy cleft of my pre-cum weepy urethra, slices into her
Warmth, between walls of wet pink
Like the knife in a tremulous loaf of medium rare prime rib
At a hotel buffet on Saturday night.
Her back arched, the ball-joint action of spasming abdomen
Socket-smooth, like an eye rolling back
In a swoon, the muscles of cunt, contoured and grooved
Like a peach-pit, or her immigrant grandmother’s creased, riven hands,
Gripping the head of my cock like the thin, turbulent membrane of parched desert air
Over the aerodynamically plotted and analyzed surface of dimples
That texture the golf ball I drive off the back tee:
The drag-and-lift
Spasm of orgasm travels the length of my column
In fits and starts, like a lit black powder fuse, to explode as nacreous ropes
Of translucent cum,
Lashing her insides with viscous heat,
Followed by thick and congested white, opalescent snot, her fucked
Inside-out, post-coitus labia
Stretched like the laughing-or-crying expressionist mask
From the Scream movie franchise, extrudes,
Breaking off clots of my seed with each shudder and tremble,
Like the dying mechanical heaves of a ghetto McDonald’s soft-serve machine
As it tops a cone of banana-vanilla swirl with an elf-boot toe.