loving her tasted like oat milk. agricultural with a sour aftertaste. bloated belly, smelly breath. no juicy fat pimples for a change, though, for she makes you shine. round forged sickle with the oat seeds dripping, sunshine scorching shapes into the reins, reach into my flesh and tear until you hear the tendons popping. reshape me into whatever. aphrodite doesn’t care. (there was something so american in her kiss. feel the cowboys kicking dust with their boots as she gripped my thighs and came. horses neigh in the midwest yet she claims to be a city girl. cars and skyscrapers to her chest. engines for a lung. calloused hands from holding the lanterns and dancing like there’s no tomorrow. cough up the chemicals then, exchange them in my mouth. foam on your tongue and you make me coffee. americano-style, new york apartment and your hands down my spine.) adieu, mon amour, laisse-moi rêver. i'll take oat milk for a change.