The speaker’s pleases bloat.

A drum in the stomach’s soft pit.

A guitar strung with rain.

                          The name

that spins within the sleeping leaps

from another’s mouth. The flaming

swells; the fire shrinks, the tongue

                            unconsumed. Every

comparison reverses this triangle.

The hesitation stretches woman and woman

to man and woman and man.

                             The deadwax

crackles a coda. The slowing hertz.

On the lip, the word to cue the end.

¹Playing the Jolene 45 at 33rpm makes the vocal track seem more masculine.