Tart (revised)

the Radio blows
at the small succulent hairs
on the back of my hand.
and this is you.

you stir
the radiant Blood
beneath, it swims with you
and gnashes me jagged,
can you feel my cudgelgirthed lips
against your Jaw
hardtenderlover
brute?

and

in brief,
you don
your soles
and leave

these small sumptuous hairs
dry with breath.

.