peter jerrim

tickled by the Kentucky sward
at night we made love
on every golf course
in the county

as Venus throbbed in the east
we drank from each other’s mouths
and pumped like dogs

cried like birds

afterwards we tuned our devices
to visitor radio
and wandered hand in hand
beneath the trees the stars

the breeze dried us

one moonlit night a joke
about cosmetic surgery turned
serious I got a razor from my kit
we cut one another

laid out on the
eighth hole
we inscribed pure math
in our flesh

coins
became crop circles
left scars like rope

infinite forms
of the prairie
tuned inward