Adaptation of Lines / by D.M. Jerman

Dear Garrett-
Please take it as a compliment when I say I liked your poem enough to fuck around with it.
See changes below.
PS. Going to the Slam at the Green Mill on the 31st. Will perform. See you there?

Entente of your skin - embers.
Silk of your skin - uncut.

How you always wore a dress
In concordance with your pensive curves.

When I was bound within your arms
The earth became superfluous.

Here, I turned water into words;
I turned love into a mechanical song.

Brushed what was left upon your lush lips
Like makeup- things of oysters, flakes of skin.

Silent once more as the earth grows
Against stress the press of your open mouth,

As indents of skin pressed upon gallantly,
Each labor of your cunt made force
To force the crisis
Of pulse.

In a burl of perpetual bloom, curr
Of curls unfurled, locks
Bloom to salubrious tongues,
Unwithered in these tender mornings.

Such a dry land
Dry hands,
And dry dying thighs.
Of this thicket is asked:
‘Will ever there be a bloom?’

Of roads and grass blades have known
So many mornings when the sun,
So much sun and drafts
Kissed and hugged the pillowcases
Ears, shoulders, toes in turn;

Our lids, lashes and dripping noses
Dropped atop tea and shared toast,
Glancing coffee with cigarette smoke.

Across a rug, she-
spread and spared of questions.
Her brine eyes brown
eyelids ebb upon her eyes
lazygazing up toward
the bloom of a rotten sun.