she said it to no-one

one-night woman sonnet plus one

spotless impurity: blushing at its own motion yet
moving anyway. something got down her shirt.
painted yellow and black like the back
of the meat-feeding wasp: new two antennae for a
new inquisition--not why or how,
but how much and for how long.
sing of it: the body electrified by
disgust, unknowingness--a desire for
tumbling, the yellowed marrow moved
through the cracked bone and the dark
of lightless muscle nestled in under skin;
a playing-card queen, playing up and down
a game she cannot fondle.

a whole for love, where two lips, split,
like ripe blades of scissors, ceaseless, come together.