lover is a day

wine drunk

i was raised by women whose bodies were not defined by lines
rather curves and slopes that my aunt boasted brought the hands of men with more to lose than gold upon finger

it was her that taught me the art of the chase

the glorious weeping virgin enters stage right
listen to her song?
i hum it before bed and whisper it into the ear of the man beside me on the train
he watches me eagerly, roused by the aroma of rot in the air
he hungers for something but does not know for what

it was not him that taught me that there were sonnets declaring love everlasting on my thighs
the effulgent stretching of skin that covers a part of me that i do not write poetry about

over sweet bubblegum cherries, i realize that no one has ever been in love with me
my aunt tells me that i must arch my back
not to encourage lust
but to remind them of the pebbles i have swallowed
smooth as his skin
just to prove i that could

i can be the girl your skin welts for, i tell him
i could give warmth to your hands
i could
fill
you
up

-

yikes (just posted a new story, fiction thing called 'peach light fading' jsykkk)