Fagots*

The anger that nourishes, more than hot milk or breath,
Resides in a hollow
Scooped from the chest.

The substanceless fire lends tongues for a spine,
Wraps,
Licking up your breasts.

The red fang that flourishes, inside fodder so lithe,
Pauses,
lovingly,
To dance in ox-bow pools
Cupped at the crest.



*Fagot (noun): a bundle of twigs bound together and used as fuel.