by Greg McCarthy
I release a swarm of wasps
& name each one after things you told me
that made me, even though I didn’t want to,
put your cock in my throat
You asked if you could fuck me
so I coughed up my lung
& hung it on the lamp
You took it home with you,
even though I wasn’t offering
In the aftermath,
I kneel under the shower
& hold my eyes open
because I need to remember
the way this looked
I tell you that I am a liminal space
& you enter me anyways