declension guard

u speak virus to me
when i stand at ease
u ask me please me
oppose me 
fear ganglia
a sweet trip
nauseat
glomming to demand
i ur pain pig
pale

another won bet:
i teethe my quilt, light
as a feather stiff as an angel

today i felt      one 

(1)    caressing feeling

is it lush
enough,
my life?

woe

when i am not the sun or a dog
nor yet a man, 
paralytic tipple
when  i'm not allowed
to   fling
still good 
natured and dumb
slide                crash
into me 
yah

the rub is
there, salty
and perfidious:

i only take my clothes off
when i'm getting dressed

celibate, not halcyon

, one day i will pick off all my god and eat pussy: sanguine 
just as i clean each dish deeper than my tongue,
finally having had my fill of dooms

took a holy piddle, sweet                cloud of two strands         feeling the violence
of  love

i hate u when u soften the blow

dance is
so horny

  hand in 
glove betide
of care tonguing
one stone jewel,
or righteous
cipher, facedown
in hundred-acre mud

after our third session
the psych catches me
motorboating the cherry
blossoms in the lot

i scare
the living christ
out of me

gin hart is a worker, an activist, and a soothfast fool living on Ohlone land. Find them in print in West Wind Review/online in MISTRESS, Paradise Now, Elderly, Hobart and Reality Hands  +  irl getting grass stains wriggling to train sounds in the park at night.  Along w/their writing partner/∞ alpha pup, mal young, they're finalizing dirt child, a lit mag //@fawnbrawl