Space Stuff–poem draft

Count the cloud fall of skies in peach cobbler erupt. Star stuff and space dust sink me to sleep: the slow soak, tender skinned give in of fog to the dawning horizon. All that water shaking dizzy in the nitrogen heavy molecule of sky. I swim big displacement, leaving plenty of leg room as I swan dive into isolation. but I am thick with muscle. I, magic lipped, steady bend away from lament, I lap up the steady celestial spill. My lips burn up with holes, burn up with the collection of constellations of tooth flesh imprint. Cherry gummed with moon chalk teeth, I sing the vacuum of dead space: my silence gorgeous.


revisions to be included in manuscript–new working title:  Moon Tides Sing Violet Petals Worth of Ghost Waves.

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