I like to feel her strip my skull

and pick a part to probe.

She spits chagrin into my Grooves 

and never mops my lobes.

 

She seeps into my ventricles 

and drowns my buoyant mind. 

A tendril penetrates my throat 

and coils around my spine.

 

She tongues my thoughts until I come 

to trust what she observes;

glues muntins to my dusty eyes

and cons my optic nerves.

 

I’m dripping with her Frame of Mind: 

my fragile one, it quakes.

A contradiction. I spurns I.

My mind’s Foundation breaks.