Sonnet

What the woman what the churlish night

undone the pompadour with fingernails

a dress of sewn Skittles a slow unzip

a brimstone of lipstick pantomime a hey

who trundles whose bed under heavy touch

me there ribbon down the spine unfurled

in sweaty squint the mystery has puddled

to a thirst I’m chewing over a thigh a breast

a stop it tickles tympanum it shakes but

who the hearing who in vertigo unraveling

the flesh is hair to flesh is under thumbs

indigenous terrain foster-fathers of our own

making makes this vista undeveloped ours

breaks my mister in a deep of flowers