I hear glory box and think
of you as pandora
of your mouth almost needlessly
whispering
of your lips almost eternally
of all your boxes
like charms
inside other boxes
and of your skin quivering
trembling
and of the chords that you touch
between your thighs
and with your hands you delicately part
your labia the longing and the secrets
that drip from the tips of your fingers