While her quince, stratums the wind

Yearning for the pillory
of your buckshee sleek leer

where chary cadences
aileron rolls into thorny caresses
and scampering apologies

wear me,
as a flyblown hello
discarded in passing winks

i’m ceiled with coarse grit
and tailored cretonne ignes fatui
mordant and crass
like the skirted dust
of embryonic suns

glued mass aligned
with your ocular basorexia,

why do you not implode,
and become cirrose,
sustenance into my prison
of dubiety,

must you,
lasso the quiet capture
of my quilted fulcrum?

and I rage,
at the pull of you,  
the cooping hunt,
chemically strewed.