Rajiv Mohabir
You’re starving. All night
masculinity cat-walks
your jaw, suddenly
you’re a humpback in breach
where I’m thirsty.
Lanced,
I ring you out to feed flame,
to whittle hairpins.
What do you witness
as I dry for you, hunting
your ash. No crustacean
blooms at sea;
I’ve stolen krill
oil so you quick swallow schools
of diatom dust
that pound your throat raw.
I pluck
your vocal strings, until
what’s left of you are baleen,
a bridge, frets,
warm with ghosts,
your body hair and femur.