The range of words
spanning fears and freedom buzzing
clutter the space
where dustballs stagger like ancient ruins
eroding beneath the clawfoot
She doesn’t want my eyes
which makes it easier to pour
their peril through tiny
portholes, iris
A rigid kiss I wish would melt
and cover my body like hot wax
I shy from language
and we speak of pain
with beating hearts
and trailing tips that
dance the ridges
we take turns sleeping
facing out, pressing our backs
accepting both that
we are not our best
always in winter
I have swallowed
many a wish
yearnings from my belly
she would cradle
my divisions
and I’d
become bouyant
like a ship resealed
