I spent my
wedding night
beside the sink,
above an aced cup
of bubble and a
strangers’ bowl.
We held each
Other, carving
heaves to keep
them off
the walls,
shelling ourselves
from mother's
bridging one another
to the left
and musicians the
Right.
I was a shucked
nerve.
A new wife.
A lost bullet.
The cut rift in
cream lace.
I smoothed my
puffs
squeezed every
toe, redressed
and returned.
Pan
It’s unfortunate
the velocity of such
winged creatures;
the astringency
the dust behind
the glimmer trail on
a base-line you’re too
nimble to really
need.
I know I do.
Our moth helix, tall
and tricky
and curious, tantric,
teaching me
to fly.
It’s funny.
To’ve sewn your shadow
to a thimble point,
a fertile side, a smoke
caged kiss, in wild
and secret spaces.
I mean,
it’s only love.
Dryad
I love his brain like
swollen leaves blindly
seek the sea; and
he prods my thoughts
like silver darts
tear gossamer from
trees.
I’ll never know a
sharper show of
frailty than he;
nor the taste of growth
in place of
our disparity.
