poem from muse candy

*
i am the underground
of how her body dwells,
the founding sound
of heartbeat bells,
that hide in wars,
behind false walls,
and hidden doors,
or coyly kept
in ample laps,
where cards determine
who will rise or fall.

i am the underground
of what her body tells
upon the tabletop
of what appearance is,
and what its not.
i'm what is found
when lip is
to thigh's lip,
upon the quickened breath
of stolen bread,
beneath wet gowns.

i am the underground
of where her body sells
its guiled styles.
i rise and thrive
in fascist times,
and gagged and bound,
as sexcrime mate,
i won't escape
massaging hands
that pierce my plans
with raw hide sounds.