Her neck is four days long,

her Venusian mouth,

her nose is a diaphone-

as steam rolls heavily upon the bay,

in a house just down the road,

wet tongues sink atop the neck,

golden with rust,

where we dream of slumbering beds

at the bottom of the ocean;

of the palpitating glow of our twin bellies fallen

upon a bed of feathery clouds,

for the morning to drink us,

so we may peel the lids of our eyes.