Rajiv Mohabir


You’re starving. All night
                       masculinity cat-walks
your jaw, suddenly

you’re a humpback in breach
where I’m thirsty.

I ring you out to feed flame,
                to whittle hairpins.          
What do you witness

as I dry for you, hunting
           your ash. No crustacean
blooms at sea;
                       I’ve stolen krill           

oil so you quick swallow schools
           of diatom dust
that pound your throat raw.
                                               I pluck

your vocal strings, until
           what’s left of you are baleen,
a bridge, frets,

                         warm with ghosts,
your body hair and femur.