ASMR
Hello—Tonight
we’ll trace the static bough,
temporalis to
tailbone, cool stone,
the childhood grotto
you always sleepless haunt, audible
dripping from the ferns’
pre-Raphaelite, gauzy
frame.
I’m rasping your spine
with the edge of a wooden
spoon. Stranger,
I love you.
Even if you have no
small chimpanzee to rock you back
and forth.
