Firsts (Redo)

Your tined proposal glides over her teeth,
cattle prods a smile,
then slithers through the gritting.
Over the threshold,
dust bowl bedroom
tumble weeds
fold in Minerva's curse to turn
a temple to a tomb.
Blood caked on sand dunes,
the platelets pile in the cracks
of your lips like bitter berry juice,
belly warm violet
dries to a sticky sweet stain;
the permanent mark
of this grotesque
imitation of intimacy.