By Cleo Abramian

I brush my teeth with my thumb 
like a good American

feeding you a cucumber
in bas-relief, it feels so good 

to wear an updo to the yard sale
a lime green wrap dress 

to my vows, I wake up
to the blooming harps 

alarm, the crease 
of a digital hand

I like it when
what to do

crepuscular wanting
sunset on my breasts

you’re gone, what 
an erotic gesture

to leave 
with your teeth 

like a pile of cranes
at the party 

my butt is a thick curd
I stand and shape 

my cuticles
telepathically 

I fear the highway
I fear biology, I want 

a popsicle
I like it when 

you move 
me across a sown

field