Inam Kang

ode to the rimjob

here, a circle of hell-
here, a growing envelope-
here, boundless horizon where dirt smothers-
here, blasphemy undoubtedly-
here, blasphemy of course-
here, even the queerest decline-

locked door misfortune,
new sort of chastity,
every sensibility delicate.
but trust lives in this house, too.
i know it, every follicle
around the bend-

& so i say let’s examine
like we’re supposed to,
like our good mouths
meant to do in the beginning.
with the feast right here
under our nose. with a
golden message to send out-

river milked to new oblivion,
i say familiar
because now i see it
like skin but with a different hold.
this, where a whole person made
themselves rested muscle for me,
invited me through before i even reached-

& so diligence is the name
of the night. i say look at us,
so clean in the morning
and the afternoon
and the dusk’s stretched drama-

that was the prayer
i learned to cook
after i carved away skin and skin
and skin, closets of caked dust.
i make my way through husks,
stalks, a whole earth of old crop.
here, a tongue crowned-
here, a reprieve broke-
here, i speak breath and
a door opens.