scrawled near base weeds behind the fast food joint

Her sacral saccade in
madding briefs and
aslant low hillocks of
her exfoliated shudder.

Oh her gesso
athwart
my looming
foci.

I admire her legs.

We flail
gladly, onto hunkered plains

epigram

Truth is water. Attraction makes it open.

Fanny Howe, The Birth Mark: unsettling the wilderness in American literary history (1993)