Where in the World is My Cryptozoologist?

To make your eyes bulge at all directions
She has a fresh tomato smile, the tongue
of a dog trapped in a River Park attic in the drought
of July, bathéd in the caress of an el derecho,
in electrostatics to raise the tips of your hair
like the puckering lips of the new world;
to touch forgotten places like an ancient primate.

I want to be charmed, channeled, tempered, forged.
Born from the pool of ivory in your face.
I'm willing to pack all of your gift ideas into my pillow case.
I can't sleep on choices; the lemurs do have pretty eyes.
I guess i'm okay. I approach the new day with an advanced laughing.
You come and touch me like a howling skeleton.

You were wearing a simian a similar ape your dark forklift
is a cosmic dance cereal. I want to play dress up, I want to bend spoons.
My entire side has been torn open, it won't heal, nothing heals
in such a deep loch I'll peel it all away like a monkey in a brain scientist costume.
When I am fully exposed, or have become some undefinable oneness
astralopithecus, after rinses, repeat and lay it to me lucely.