By Italo Ferrante

i groped my way out of a needle pit i
swished through a fan of blades snapped
knuckles twisted muscles watched the unrated
director’s cut oh i wish that you were with me
my fingers tucked into your pits sweating out a cold
while a man wakes up strung up by his tongue
in a subway tunnel how romantic to snog & think
of medieval torture my hair pulled further & further
back until my scalp partially forgets your fingertips
until lasers slice through someone’s skull & i feel
sick sci-fi style like a malfunctioning time machine
i’m scared that if you don’t give me a belly spasm now
a nail bomb will go off & two blocks of ice will smash
our heads in so take this arched smile these lips wet
with want & spank me five times if i don’t bite down