You are shiny, and you’re pretty.
When you’re in my throat I love you.
You’re the crunch of glass between my teeth,
and candy on my lap.
And you’re scruffy and you’re lying,
You’re a badger at the baby.
You’re the journal in the bureau
of Narcissus Daydream Annie.
The emergency release kit that
she rubs into her arms?
You’re the thought that traces all the lines
and reddens up the skin.
You’re the Near-to-Hand, the Up-All-Night,
You’re Glamour in a photo.
Just revisiting the cities on
a badly hand-drawn map.