The Butterflies

Our different backgrounds become apparent,
the Atlantic waves

steal a carpet from the floor,
lava at mid-sea bubbles like roses

I gave you on another planet,
a different heaven, a breathless stone

imitates a fish on land.
Oh, pre-Cambrian, oh, pre-Stupid,

you ask do these pants make my ass
look big, look where you’re going,

look askance, I answer in red letters,
I take the shovel of my heart and vanish.

I tell you your pants are fine
but I have no idea if you are horse or house.

Dinosaurs unscrew the legs
from the kitchen table,

they suck on the tile, challenge
Napoleon-sized refrigerators

until the refrigerators outnumber them.
You lead me by the hand

to some Messerschmitt dinner party
I don’t want to go to, wrapped only in skin,

my teeth ready to wrinkle and set free,
the butterflies your friends will bandy about.