lifting off your spine, it’s
greens and yellows, the glow of a light under the water,
in a swim of pinks and creams my
rainstorm of kisses land sweet claim, tiny flags sprout in bruises, sing
Mine, mine. Each pock of tooth mark chants
be gentle, be safe,
I had an orchid staining my thigh. It faded to a sickly cut of yellow like a lump of the moon herself, gold under my skin.
This story begins in bruises, indeed it is a song of bruises, of love marks, of chance and lust. I bring my lips to your forehead and wonder if it’s enough, these
weed lit evenings like a lamp in the quiet.
I’m melting over your back, cold as a glacial lake,
you are heat and candied ginger sweets
disintegrate in spun sugar swim
I’ve swum a far distance to not
drift into this
marshland lust, the kind of
quicksand stick and plunge,