you want the title page of your life
to be walked upon by many kittens
I want the same thing
we like it when our names blur
hard lonely antennas go soft
wrap around one another

you have fur in all the right places
I trim mine to fit into the places where you are bare
you want the title page of your life
to be put into a toaster next to the title page of my life
to let them burn together in their separate slots

you want the marquee to carry your wordlessness
the inside of a beetle's shell
to bring under its shiny hard
your meaning to a place where it'll
slowly be appreciated by lizards

I want the same thing but not now
I'm too busy chafing
your eyelids with my eyelids
too busy in your heat with the things
that have previously made me cold