Look over your shoulder for the hustle of words.

Friday, September 7, 2007

The Echo

Remember this sequence, remember
this pattern.
Crush - conversation.
Running, flashing,
bird-of-you alighting
in the light of the iris.
We come to speak,
leave to heaving
- mouths agog.

Blushing.
Glowing.
Hushing.

Aye. Aye. We connect at knee and hip.
Stars fall as heavy apricots from
the torn string parcel of the sky.
All upon us, weighted fruit and
I can barely swallow this.
Resin's running through us,
the mat of river reed's our bed.
The stones are straining patterns
on my breasts and thighs.

When you're weeping, own this
memory.
Roll it over, under your thick
lost tongue.
For when I'm gone
you'll be alone, so I insist
you think of sticky palms on backs
(not pallid lands of washed flesh
or funeral masks).
Think of murmuring laughing,
of the cold heft of rain
thudding the window
of our skulls.
Stars scarring our skin.

1 comment:

The Vegan Apron said...
This comment has been removed by the author.