She has a Hollywood inside her, it turns me. He is a falconer’s apprentice, but I’m gone before the mice defrost. Another, a Craigslist ad on the bough of a willow. My lovers are all classrooms in the same kindergarten. A golden spoon of glue for you, and you, a bicycle ride down my miles of legs. Did you know it would get this dirty?—when I met you in Intro to the English Major? When you slid into my Uber? At the music festival? Tonight?—I’m going to put a poem right where your thing should be, okay? Our safe word is Max Seifert. I like my lovers large, I like to fit my lovers inside my lovers. Breath of leg hair. Rub of jock salt. Then, enter my kinks like a Chinese New Year parade. You’re inside of me inside of a growl—fresh fruit & control. I’m getting off on gravity, touching you there, pulling you here. This whole thing is driving me crazy: hot to the point of electricity, tectonic, slippery when wet, chickenbones everywhere, & imagination.
Max Seifert is a poet, editor, and power forward in Chicago. His chapbook, The Hole of Everything, Nebraska, received the 2015 Frances Kahn Award from the National Federation of State Poetry Societies. His work appears or is forthcoming in The Adroit Journal, Plain China, and the Small Plate Anthology. He works in educational publishing.