watching you steal from victoria's secret

hands over bras,
touch this one you say 
& i squeeze 

its soft, just like how i would 
imagine touching
my own chest would feel,
in the middle of the store
with everyone watching.

you slip them 
into your pockets somehow, 
crushing each cup
like a fat foam carnation,
you're full of bras,

they bloom under your 
breastplate & they flip over
to cup us both, two soft nests.

you made me want to be 
become a bird. 

i believe that god has hands
made of bras or at least
that she is as soft as one.

i want them all over me,
a different kind of tortoise,
i spill, snail-like & slimy.

we fall into a table of panties,
they slip over us as water,
water with new colors,
the pinks & the waists of lace
& the polk-a-dots purple bubbling
escaping from our mouths,
thongs dripping in between fingers,

i think of what it was
like to undress for you,
how you watched me come apart,
each body part on the bed room floor,
first my feet & then a rib at a time.

the mall is closed now & 
Victoria still has so many secrets

we ask her but she doesn't tell
us any so we just share our own.

i told you that i steal from
Target sometimes & you say
that you want to kiss me 
until both of us dissolve,
until we're strap-less & satin. 

alone & after hours 
we knock over all the displays.

we wear six bras each, 
beautiful & monstrous

neither of us are girls 
or boys 

& we feel wild & gender-less,
luscious & luminous

panties in our teeth,
growling & on all fours,

we tear the garments apart 
& admire each others teeth.

back at home i watch 
you undress. you try the new bras on,
you have a trick to remove 
the little tag that is supposed to burst 
when you try to pull it off

we're thieves. 

you set it on your dresser
& model each one from me.

i become a mirror & bask
as i become your body,
& i'm thankful to be someone else

blues & loud naked-pink &
a each rib made of lace
& the underwires grinning
full of fang.

no, you don't have
to take one for me