Reading · Mark Crutchfield

rip me open
with your vowels

pluck my heart
until I scream
out loud

pin my arms
up high
with a quote

slip your
grammar softly
down my throat

take me deeper
one slow comma
at a time

until
our metaphors
forget
which mouth
they belonged to

double quotes,
please, dear.

apostrophes
are much too possessive.

i want my lips

sealed

then stained

with em dashes.

leave
parentheses

where
your hands
almost hesitated

italicise
every doubt
i’ve ever
carried

until they finally
answer
me back

sink lower
my love

let my tongue
trace the curve
of your consonants

ntil
every syllable
trembles

beneath
your silence

your fingertips
slipping
inside
my margins

i don’t need your porn —

or the shapes
it expects.

just your lips

reading
the punctuation
of my form

Fuck me
with your poetry.

period.

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Something more from me?

Nothing truly leaves — it just changes how it stays.

Poetry