Down So Low

and with that,

Aesculus peeled back his

tonsils and handed me his

adam’s apple,

a hot wreath of veins,

the genitalia of the mind.

and he kissed me

as if his throat

had always been thick

and dry.

and he whispered names

for my small yellow

window plant, and as

he spoke

we both grew greener,

and as

he flexed his fingers

the bones in the bed

moaned and the house

shuddered until it rattled its

ribs together,

and as

he lay there

his heart turned darker and darker

purple and unfolded like

blue mountain peaks.

and as

his lips moved

the lump of flesh in

my hands

mouthed the words:

autumn autumn autumn

flower.