ego fugio

[via__crucis]

  I give you back your heart. 
  I give you permission --

for the fuse inside her, throbbing 
  angrily in the dirt, for the bitch in her 
  and the burying of her wound -- 
  for the burying of her small red wound alive --

for the pale flickering flare under her ribs, 
  for the drunken sailor who waits in her left pulse, 
  for the mother's knee, for the stocking, 
  for the garter belt; for the call --

the curious call 
  when you will burrow in arms and breasts 
  and tug at the orange ribbon in her hair 
  and answer the call, the curious call.

She is so naked and singular 
  She is the sum of yourself and your dream. 
  Climb her like a monument, step after step. 
  She is solid.

As for me, I am a watercolor. 
    I wash off.