you cut holes in your sweaters
and stick your thumbs inside
you color your nails with markers
and mark your page with ribbon
like koi in a meadow of fairy moss
you eat the words straight off the paper of your favorite novel
you don't wear shoes
your knees are bruisy
i watch you taste literature
like it's your last meal
YOU ARE READING
temporary earth
Poetrypeople watch and whisper about their whisky secrets and virgin tongues so i hold the lighter against my cheek and tell myself that jupiter is home and i am only away for the weekend
