a hoyden,
hair pulled tight like a boy's
gregarious among seagulls
met Fjalli when
the sky cried.

it wept like a girl
with scraped knees
on the playground.

she took him in
and out of her
like a good German,
and to Valhalla
they pressed against
glass roses
and ate from the riverbed.

all the while,
her lips like
a fish cunt
were pursed and bubbling
with
salty foam which
tasted like the tears
in her hair.

& she thought
a boy
so young
shouldn't be able
to reach that far;
a cadaver on
his gurney to
prod.

she even shaved
that night
before the rocks
became a mattress,
and her spine
a springboard.

there was a
choir of crickets
under her thumb,
and
she watched
as he waxed and he waned
under the grassy
blankets
and she chewed
her tongue softly.