vic[ar]iously,
i kissed van gogh.

and he rendered my lips into spirals
of a weeping willow wound that hadn’t but
barely begun to brush her branches to the blue.
and when my eyes tried to focus on his, i spiral.ed out
and curved against his brow, worried
with wrinkled wishful thinking;
... .quickly, quickly, quickly... .
his paint on my ex.press[ion]ed mind created a church
devout in enigmatic ethereal evolutionary dreams,
and despite the pen.holes in his tongue
made by his constantly circling, he said
i tasted like sunflowers.

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