intellawolf

& I have forgotten how to write in poetics- tongue kissed & gaping like a siren missing from her sea. I have been coughing up black for days.  Unable to clean the taste from my mouth, these broken typewriter keys sewn into my fingertips scream something fierce. They ache with longing to tell of a story that left them for a better high years ago a story that never deserved to make a home under the skin, to crawl breech through an unsuspecting womb. -& out through the wrists of young girls much too ripe to fall from their beds. I am so damn tired of looking over railings & wondering what it would feel like to fall.

I like her puzzle face, her strong jaw knocking on my door with questions in the morning and her eyes sparking silent and new over the edge of the quilt where her hip bones love to linger and juggle my answers. I follow the clues hallowed under her chin and pray they will slide and straddle the soft gloam below her collarbone where I can't decide what words to meander down her back and if I want to put her together or take her apart...