If My Baby Was A Weapon Poem by jerome moore

If my baby was a weapon
Shed slice off my eye lids.
She turns me like a skeleton key.
We built a scarecrow and hid in his ribs!
We threw dishes across the room and fucc out loud.
In a factory turned loft apartment the snaking river leads us home.
Staring up from her bed at the crack in her ceiling
we watched for the ladybugs that come from its womb-like vestibule.
In the fields we throw laughter to the wind
and she spread out on our picnic blanket under the stain glass canopy

her panties ruffled under the vestibule like dead leaves.
and her juices spread like honey next to the tall glass at the bottom of the world.
and I was blindly stalked by her scent into to a bloody mulberry tree.
It was all clear when she'd smoke then blow it through the keyhole, now it
seems forbidden and undone.