i had never crushed a lily before.
inside my hands there were
tiger marks & orange bruises.
black specks digging between my fingers
two seconds before
the petal
slipped.

*

my mother: a womb
warm & uninhibited.

*

there were rumors of disease
of hair falling out, two years
before it ended.  my eyes flashed
forty-seven shades of blue each time
you attempted to nuzzle my neck, step
inside my skin. i found your folds,
giftwrapped, lying vibrant at the bottom
of our porcelain tub.

*

we were walking talking breathing fucking van goghs.
all fragile & blurry eyed.

*

you were volatile. a discolored series of explosions
swimming inside the collarbone.  sleepless, suggesting
casualty & something i couldn't quite put
my finger on.  you were a midmorning moonshine drool,
an esophagus burn. you were a mindreader & i wanted to hatch underneath the warm perversion
of your stare. bloom into
the hydrangea blossom
i kept at
my hip.

*

when a girl loves, she will love hard;
the only way she knows how.

*

i am webless, now searching,
deciphering rawness, distressing your legs
picking up marionettes & weeping
inside your mouth
where the enzymes still taste like
last year's cinnamon kiss,
where the tissue still feels familiar
though i have chosen to bolt
from the blue belly
of your disposition,
mount wire wings between my shoulder blades
and


move.

into a world where
every completely new thing,
completely unbecoming,
completely becomes something
of an old acquaintance.

*

i'll tell you this:  i loved you.
before i even knew how.