Tag: relationship

moon slip–poem

how silly my moon slip
into down     my lips
pocus wrap in yours
and I’m sorry about
celestial ache and howl
and how are you
getting down from here?
will you climb cloud
humid spilling? crawl?
beg the ailing air
to backbend into ladder
place your foot in the
spinal gnocchi rung
stumble out of this skin

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life is crazy. my apologies for the sabbatical. 

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to wait (poem)

how silly of me to read your skin
pressing, your pressing as subcutaneous.

deep is relative. i know. and my reason
dizzies drunk on nonsense

on fancy on romance. on nonsense.
&i knew better than my excited

utterance, braided in borrowed sheets
in childhood bedrooms and now

i wait. like spoiling food, waiting
for teeth to sink and my nectar

to spill over lips, to be lapped up
to be savored, to be loved.

you&I

You don’t have time
for me
&i respect that
i respect
Your time
i am time
rubberbanded
i am
rubberband ball
i am knee knot
&skin blemish
i am Your rash
i am rash
You know that
by now
that my flannel
sheets
that my piece
              mealed
sleep
that i am piecemeal
is my arm
outstretched?
elbow lock
&i can almost
touch You
from here
almost
touch
test
          is this a test?

 

Poison in the pressing of skin

oh opium bud–my lips are fat with your poison
fat with your skin pressing

the pressing of skin is a precious thing
and so are your soiling words hushed
against my neck

against my neck     I use my breasts to brace
for work
for efficiency
they hold more than milk

you leak nightshade all over my sheets
all over my skin     the muscle
of your hands     the bend of my muscle
under your hands     fingers like oleander
petals pressing

and I am sleep love drunk
rolled in flannel
the fire escape moon silhouettes
on my thighs     on my thighs
on this skin     love like luck
could be a myth     and me

 

this is my poisonous flower poem. I’ve memorized it for recitation.

ur qt—a poem

Your fingers licked the grooved
metal strings
and the clicking of
your tongue on the ridges
of the roof of your mouth
strummed the sinews of my skin
in lulling rhythms, built
craters of sighs in my
collarbone. All love
dripping from the length
of your hair and me
hugging my knees
on the edge of your bed.
Babe I live in the linger
of your breathing
on my neck
and you keep dropping
your pick but I don’t
miss a step of song
when you bend
to pick I up. I’m tangled
in the sienna brown
of your sheets and I know
that coffee burnt your
tongue but it didn’t
hold us back.

Dear Good Sir–

[AKA. Yo Engaged Dude, You’re Still Staring At Me]

You aren’t well behaved on Mondays
that boding stare of yours
burying itself in my bones
singing the milk of my marrow
boiling me like burnt butter
crusted on the bottom of a pan
I need to soak
after all this silent courting
eyes laced in the gaping of rooms
my delicate mouth fat with worry
over words
&whether to say them
—or keep eating them
Your eyes are very intense sir
&yet
I don’t know what color they are
something silly to know them
so intimately
&still not know them
at all.

 

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We’re writting letter poems this week for workshop &it beats a fifth or sixth poem about anxiety! (anxiety poems are the shit though. I think I found my niche.)