The sky was the color of a first
fuck’s kiss,
going peach & sand to road rash red then
dusk ray green—
well her fetishistic implant leaden static over
dead-eyed fishnets
made him feel the translucence of flesh &
go over
w/ a line about the sky, a bleary
pavement of clouds
heated & rippled by two shearing slipstreams
ruffling the wet
pollution, as the UV index rose &
he sunburned.
A shy about as sexy as an oven
mitt spattered
with cow’s cream, she said, & take that
how you will—
cream is a gift from god, I drink milk
every day,
& heaven is the hiss we’ll make when
the broadcast ends.