Nether Chord {Juliet Cook and Robert Cole}
Under horror of abandonment, she implored him lick her feather
before it melted. He knew how to stick his fingers through
candied eggs and waxy pink cicatrices. He knew how to turn
torn locust wings into an abstract series of dark splotched guts.
Dark black church bells hot in the blankets (she's melting).
Fountains that churn liquid cement, not water (he's hardening).
He wants to erode her scapula. Pluck out her neurons.
Flambé birds sizzle up her sleeves. Cyanotype her
from blood drenched to cryogenic witch.
