Deft knuckles
knead my temples
punch them hard and deep-
until they soften like dough,
loaves rise to fill the dints under the scorching sun.
The gleaming perspiration of my left brow morph a pipe,
Spindly fingers
deliver it between my rigid whites,
ejaculate when its fleeting stench forbid my lungs,
exhale,
Cat’s claws
swipe at the spirals as they expire along the gusty winds.
I tuck flowers
behind my earlobes, they fabricate a wreath around my hairline.
I fall into a swoon,
a trance,
sheer delirium,
That is what it means

to be without you.