I spit the toothpaste out into the sink
and look into the mirror. Several lines
appear on my forehead, a couple lines
come to me in a poem. I'd rather sink
into the muddy bayou, rather sink
my self in you than live. The fishing line
I left out on the levee was the line
we used on that catfish. The empty sink
filled up with little hairs; what was this vicious
way she made love to me? I was chaste
enough before her, now it's like I stole
into a wilderness. Her wild and vicious
mouth pronounces words, I can't be chaste
knowing the dirty body I have stolen.
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