(no subject)
i brought my full hands and gorged sides to his bed
leaving a trail of bread crumbs and tequila,
my face a boomerang of toy coincidence,
and sleep stuffed tight in all my corners.
i'm barely a woman.
lilac logic, i thought i had some, theophelia court, 1599 en fuago,
whiskey, marmalade, mermaids spine, and deadly nightshade.
sip. soft. limbs. light. white.
verbatim history of porcelain, and fossilized Winter Aconite,
petal patience, a myopic Picasso blue, the corner of lashes,
counting us on my fingers,
chalk on pavement and summer feet. a quickness of stranger breeding.
etymology of love,
and trees like lungs in the atmosphere.
a swell, a quell, a quench, noun: to slake.
ashen fingers carving our lore on the walls,
his name right next to mine so it can exist, tidy somewhere, globally.
factorial trees from the roots of our shared letters.
L. the sweet way the S curls.
belly to cheek. conception all waxed and stitched. little work.
rocking chair metronome.
Koi pond secrets: twine tied, fumbled phalanges,
my preliminary touch along his side, the place from which I came,
counting by lamp light, one rib, two ribs, three, four,
until i find the absence that birthed me
until i find the pocket that produced me
under those foreboding trees
heavy, strange with fruit.
the corners of lips, all steeped with sea foam, salt air,
breast plate expanding from the precipice
rendering a belt of cuspal stars, a blanket of opaque blue.
jupiter landings.
gravity.
this will be the lullaby for you, my little girl
your little lips a derrick to my breast, pulling at the fountain of the silver moon
and you're just yoke now in my hips
but i carry you through everyday
gosling, lamb, child of mine. sweet girl of mine.
and I will hold you soft to me under the sliced oak
counting rings-a study in ageism
head heaviest and limbs so docile
milk bath morning, you're four years old
your form a slick lightning rod as we lull and splash
taking our sleepy eyed inventory of clean toes
your nose a run on sentence as beads of perspiration gather between us
petitioning me for a sip of whatever is in my cup
and I'm singing "the earth is warmer when you laugh."
lashes locked like a prison sentence as oatmeal water carries away
that peppermint hair concoction.
your legs in constant motion
asking for the story about the rabbits and the soapwort
and as your arms stretch round my neck we sing of Edel Weis,
clean bright snow mornings,
"bless my homeland forever, bless my homeland forever."
leaving a trail of bread crumbs and tequila,
my face a boomerang of toy coincidence,
and sleep stuffed tight in all my corners.
i'm barely a woman.
lilac logic, i thought i had some, theophelia court, 1599 en fuago,
whiskey, marmalade, mermaids spine, and deadly nightshade.
sip. soft. limbs. light. white.
verbatim history of porcelain, and fossilized Winter Aconite,
petal patience, a myopic Picasso blue, the corner of lashes,
counting us on my fingers,
chalk on pavement and summer feet. a quickness of stranger breeding.
etymology of love,
and trees like lungs in the atmosphere.
a swell, a quell, a quench, noun: to slake.
ashen fingers carving our lore on the walls,
his name right next to mine so it can exist, tidy somewhere, globally.
factorial trees from the roots of our shared letters.
L. the sweet way the S curls.
belly to cheek. conception all waxed and stitched. little work.
rocking chair metronome.
Koi pond secrets: twine tied, fumbled phalanges,
my preliminary touch along his side, the place from which I came,
counting by lamp light, one rib, two ribs, three, four,
until i find the absence that birthed me
until i find the pocket that produced me
under those foreboding trees
heavy, strange with fruit.
the corners of lips, all steeped with sea foam, salt air,
breast plate expanding from the precipice
rendering a belt of cuspal stars, a blanket of opaque blue.
jupiter landings.
gravity.
this will be the lullaby for you, my little girl
your little lips a derrick to my breast, pulling at the fountain of the silver moon
and you're just yoke now in my hips
but i carry you through everyday
gosling, lamb, child of mine. sweet girl of mine.
and I will hold you soft to me under the sliced oak
counting rings-a study in ageism
head heaviest and limbs so docile
milk bath morning, you're four years old
your form a slick lightning rod as we lull and splash
taking our sleepy eyed inventory of clean toes
your nose a run on sentence as beads of perspiration gather between us
petitioning me for a sip of whatever is in my cup
and I'm singing "the earth is warmer when you laugh."
lashes locked like a prison sentence as oatmeal water carries away
that peppermint hair concoction.
your legs in constant motion
asking for the story about the rabbits and the soapwort
and as your arms stretch round my neck we sing of Edel Weis,
clean bright snow mornings,
"bless my homeland forever, bless my homeland forever."