Bathtime

I wrap her belly
with my arms,

feel for the
cracks, watch her

at bathtime to see
how she takes herself off,

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layer by layer, to
unstitch her arms from

their sockets, to unbuckle
at her navel. I crawl inside

her chasmic form
that swallows, the guts

reaching, the intestines
roping my wrist.

Come home, they croon,
and I span her with my arms.