Crevices

I will string perversities together, like the strumpets
Waiting on the field, all in a line.
Licking each of them I'll touch
An immensity, I'll spread their wrinkled twats,
I'll stretch them with my hands:
How the tongue enters dark spaces, and hears
A drop of blood, how the ears taste whispers;
The fingers see each solitary blade of grass, and hash
The hairy hemp. Oh dripping chin, oh shit-streaked
Body on a body – there is one opening
But many winding paths.