by Lena Ziegler I’m in the mood for saline/the fog of lower backcan you smell it on me/wring want from melon-airwhen April comes I imagine knowing again& the daily work of take & breathe will behallways, stillborn & whisperingI’m in the mood for Christmas lights/wreathes shapedlike swallowing/& you/& you/& youto fuck me something holyI want…