15 July 2010 | Vol. 10, No. 2

One More

by JESSE DAMIANI

Touch me

querida,

Inanna;

I swear,

this time—

we'll explode

like a super

nova—

like the last

passenger car

in the train

that scree

ches off

the tracks

in flames—

like the hunks

of melted

flesh blast

ing out

its wind

ows—

like putty,

like fireworks,

like potassium.

Like beige

lava or

split bone—

like