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.