i breathe you out
the way i breathed you in:
musky, silent, imperceptibly sweet,
mingled with rain,
your veins carrying raindrops
straight from the sky
into the heart.
i cup my hands,
pool the torrential outpour in them,
to the god of thunder
and his throne on olympus;
and i imagine
you cupping my breasts.
the hands feel warm and soft,
tropical islands in the sea of desire,
holding me in the near-darkness.
the earth drips with moisture
and i drink the rainwater
as an offering
you taste like peaches,
your ripeness undeterred
by the tight o of my mouth //
it’s the first day of summer
or the last day of spring
or some other time, where the time
is right for falling in love //
and you taste the way a peach does
when it first falls to the ground.
thank you for the patience. if you are to be with me, you’ll need it for when the haze wears off and you see the tree as it in winter, cold and barren.
if one had to count the wait, i’d do it for them. 751 days or 2 years and 20 days. you get to pick.
so you’ve made me a woman. it was sometime after 11. i don’t really know, i just know it was five past when i arrived at your door. as i laid in your bed, you took my watch off. time became a blurr of flickering candles, mango scented, in clear pots, and the sun shining through your orange curtains. it was so de vie de boheme.
our bodies were a lovely shade of striking tangerine.
we took the time to read half the instructions in the packet, we cast away the rest: we’d be okay. and yes, we were. one, almost hallucinotary, moment of discomfort and we were there.
we had to move down a few times, just a couple of notches to sratch the first notch onto the bedstead. it was interesting how it fit so snugly, so different to how i imagined. and i’ve thought about it many times.
i decided i wanted a bruise to show for it. but i felt no pain, i was somehow outside of myself. maybe it was god. i think it was god.
how funny that a moment like that should feel so simple, so unexaggerated. maybe i got it from pippa lee, but the more i think, the less i think so. i swallowed that book yesterday, in a gulp, but i’m not sure i like it any more.
tonight, it’s going to be hard, falling asleep alone and dreaming of laying in bed with you.