White Extractions

I’ve been dreaming lately
of car wrecks, your mouth.
That dark space where my spine
curves, starved. Wanting.

She’s murdered by the mortality
of objects but this ache never dies.
To be good at her hands,
be beautiful. Loved.

I pray in parking lots,
lick my lips at the sky.
Once, a hot surge of blood
pulsed through my snow-white dress.

My forearms brushing the sides
of my breasts, cradling and cupping,
pushing them together.
The valley of darkness there.