her pants are bunched around her ankle in a lipid bilayer,
hydrophobic tails reaching for the inseam of her jeans.
her hair is an interpretive dance of the axon,
split ends becoming
nerve ends, tied up in a ganglion of ponytails,
stray strands falling over her face.
she is a product of her own peculiar biology,
a tangle of actin and myosin filaments
contracting against convention.
she is falling with leisurely urgency,
letting judicious use of the word “fuck”
and other profanities
drip from her tongue
to crystallize on the calcium cubes of her teeth.
not unlike her zipper, whose own metameristic teeth
are clamped shut up to her collarbone—
silver teeth and pale feet with bones like icepicks
ripping out stitches in the hems of her jeans.