“pinch the little finger to stimulate the heart”

it sounds a little masochistic, she said,
to listen when you already know
what he’s going to say

in the mirror, my eyes misting
in double

my circulation is my worst trait, it’s
like a melting the liquids
don’t know where to go

mom would pinch
her cheeks before a date

the men’s underwear display:
my cheeks fill with blood when I stand facing.
stimulation stems—

manipulation of material

bite down post-palm, fit the flesh between
your teeth when you let go the flood

of me

i was all contained in that place
and now the heart
hooks through me
it’s loud at the meridian
you hear it in your feet
the pounding you feel

red

why do we associate the heart with love?
love is lazy the heart is work

and her breath is short now—even from talking
the heart’s strength
is irreversible

open your chest to the ceiling
your shirt open, then off—
my little finger at the corner of your mouth
it’s hard while walking to think about it

hold your fingers cross your breath
the ghosts are out tonight—
heart-hungry, blood-rythmned
circulating what’s gone cold