You know how much is too much but
you shake the bottle anyway over browned
grilled cheese sandwich and bite in.
The things you think you can get away with–
oh, the tiny fires you’ve stepped across in
the temple of your longing. Little dabs of red
on canvas– the meat of the situation is you’re
taken but, Lord, the flame goes hallelujah blue.
I’m speaking a poetry of pigs. Relationship
as slaughterhouse. Relationship as bacon
you want to slather lust all over.
(originally published in Adelaide, Fall 2019)