Distract me with exact abstractions.
Tell me how, although we’re sure we feel its
pressure and its call, there isn’t anything at all.
Justify why blueberries get into pies.
Illuminate the nature of erection in the penis
and the geodesic dome. Surprise
me with an untoward unfamiliar sense of home
so I might fathom how to love it as you love it.
Tell me what’s beneath it and above it:
what it smells like, how it tastes.
Tell me why the soul is made of foam.
Describe the way, for you, sweat bastes,
or doesn’t baste, desire. Tell me
just what you require. Perhaps we’ll coincide,decide to ride together on the next outgoing tide.