Tasseography

A secret door coming unhinged

Last night the white cup split into three pieces

               When you meet the wolfhound do not look her in the face—

The bitch mouths              tie his wrists down            & I don’t see

The password for this trapdoor is                fruitless

               Try feeding him another woman’s breastmilk—

Desperation became a thing contagious

               I know what your fetters are made of & where you keep them—

Lock pins aligning despite disuse

               I predict a wasp nest in your mattress by tomorrow—

The cock-purple marks on his chest cannot fade now

I press into his soft teeth & say              I made you this