Ecology

I need to rub more lotion
     on my will. I crack and split
          in your dry heat,

a withered lake bed laid
     under a pitiless sun.
          There is no lash—just that stare,

your unblinking stare,
     at my open nakedness
          and I can't cover myself.

The small creatures
     of our romance
          have dug themselves

deep into me, seeking
     any trace of mud,
          and there,

at the very core
     of my alkali heart,
          find some tiny moisture

left from the primal flood.
     Their cloven tongues
          greedily suck.