(no subject)
in the spring of my body
my bones blossom and the bees
and the butterflies flitter in through my eyes
and drink my blood like nectar. creepflitter flying
underneath my skin: rippling the surface as they flutter
in. and my veins grow out my fingertips like ivy vines
and my mouth parts the petals of my lips and columbine and
red rose hips grow from underneath my tongue. twigs inch out from my
fingernails and their moons shimmer of butterfly scales. my hair matted,
twists down my back thick as roots anchoring in me trees of forbidden fruits.
my collarbone pierces through my skin, my flesh like water in the wind
and pushes it aside like the skinny wings of a new bird. my mouth
fills up with dew or tears and ladybirds move in behind my ears,
and my breasts are pillowed nests and my ribs
are little cribs. and my heart is a tulip
that opens only at night, when it is
the spring of my body.
my bones blossom and the bees
and the butterflies flitter in through my eyes
and drink my blood like nectar. creepflitter flying
underneath my skin: rippling the surface as they flutter
in. and my veins grow out my fingertips like ivy vines
and my mouth parts the petals of my lips and columbine and
red rose hips grow from underneath my tongue. twigs inch out from my
fingernails and their moons shimmer of butterfly scales. my hair matted,
twists down my back thick as roots anchoring in me trees of forbidden fruits.
my collarbone pierces through my skin, my flesh like water in the wind
and pushes it aside like the skinny wings of a new bird. my mouth
fills up with dew or tears and ladybirds move in behind my ears,
and my breasts are pillowed nests and my ribs
are little cribs. and my heart is a tulip
that opens only at night, when it is
the spring of my body.