I have a doctorate in your geology
enough on the forms to fill a lecture syllabus
Metamorphic and igneous
I’ve fracked petrol from the source
Watched it flow in dripping pleasure
tormented by hydraulics stealing your shine.
Textured composition in your brainwaves;
I’ve mapped them.
Volcanic eruptions, thick lava of lust;
I’ve felt them occur,
On my leg and in my mouth and around my
chest where your head sleeps.
Synclinal synchronization, a gentle bend downwards
Anticlinal hospitalization, the science of rising from hospice
You could never bear those sickly sounds:
Hospice of a deer, sweetly doe-eyed running
& the antlers of her lover, heaving animal sighs.