She tugged my darkened nipple
to the back of her throat. That sulky bottom lip,
pleated by milk-heavy breast, curved into swell
of silken cheek. The bald imperfections of her skull.
At night, her smallest breaths grew loud; she snuffled
like a hound rooting for truffles.
Her hand a pale star stretching,
grasping wildly, reaching
into my mouth, worming her thumb
against the slippery warmth of gum.
I licked her fingers, knuckles, nails; laid my lips
against her fat palms. The undeveloped lifelines,
heart-lines mapped with my tongue, breathing
in her sourmilk smell, nipping skin with gentle teeth,
lapping at the gathered folds of flesh on wrists.
She cannot remember any of this.