Hey, summer puppy

trotting into the sprinkler spray, frightening sweetly 

when you get wet—meet the whole god-damning summer

squall of me. I'll drip the paisley down your sides, swell

and simulacra you into a billboard fit to advertise my most

commercial cravings. You can't think yourself into un

-assuming. I see you for what you are: a fraud

who needs feeding from a trough bigger than this terminal

highway. Look, puppy, 90-Degree-Jawline plucks women

from the street as he preens the brittlest leaves

from his garden bed. You are not invisible

if inaccessible. No eyes make us

so let's truce—

let's put our bodies to pray in the push

of a bawdy barroom throng. Let's sin for closeness

more like combustion: a flip-the-fuck-out

with a shockwave that brings the best

benders to their knees before easing.

Puppy, you are a a luminous prick of longing

looming over open water, a tantalizing never-near

what I see when I look down. I admit it: you are my ache

for chaos consistent, the hegemonic want to see

my better breeding in everything that isn't me. I need you

to love my reckless beating and bleating and bumping, all the unreliable

narration of my locomotion—and you—girl—and the world—girl—