Your freckled softer-than-jersey face is a feeling stronger than a papercut.
Your presence is better than pulling off the stilettos at 3AM
the dancing enthusiasm loosened through the night,
I am jagged edges in the stairwell
and your arms rocked me anyway
-my body just a curl of a person
but your hands didn't brush me away like pencils shavings.
1 week out
I huddled in the boisterous bookstore corners
the teenagers in puddles
philosophize about the social capacity of space:
"I can't. I'm shy. I can't if somebody can hear."
A boy in their group grunts rhythmically,
she punctuates by counting out gritty restrooms as well
the disapproval weighs down her words,
points at the missing spaces in their group.
The bookstore groans,
& they purchase a book about flatulence.
After Xmas Shopping
and a small taste of sleet slanting off the forehead.
It stings then melts
like getting shot down in front of the bartender.
I Made it Home
My body is more that just a smear on the highway,
I've got moving parts like everyone else,
parts that move like no one else.
She's got hornets in the throat
& lizards in her feet.
Her face smiles
like the guttural howl of a motorcycle in a churchyard.
You can tell that it's winter by the thickness of pumping exhaust.
She is cowboy boots 2 sizes too small,
blistered histories that tried
(maybe) too hard.
She leaves her heart on the field
wrapped in sleeves and lengths of small intestine
drops a kidney and a set of tonsils on her way to the sidelines.
She keeps her liver to herself.
beneath all the clatter
her eyelashes gather into tiny triangles
-long with salt and regret.
You're body got crooked
while working toward my sleep,
& unfurled the torsion from 5 different contraptions.
The light collided
and their friction colored the windows
the world obscured by misty blue-green geometry.