Unstick your thighs. Plug
the hole with gum.
Remember the pierce, the safety
pin—its black tip burned,
how you pushed in,
hours through skin.
Electric sent down. Past hips,
beneath sheets. Pink.
Walls fading. From the mouth
of the belly. On your back.
The hot-toast-prick. Silver
in your ears. Lighter
beside your thigh.
Once a cord, now a hook.
Your swollen, button-lip.
Your beaded chump.
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