we were wrapped up tight
in the lack of music and
our own individual skins, my
hand in the dip between your hip and your ribcage

we are dipped in white chocolate moonbeams
pouring in through the dipped panes of the
window-by-bed, before
slipping into dream, we
sipped wine from thin flutes and
[dip]ended on one another as pillars
pillars of strength
of kisses
of iron-dipped tongues and hips but
when you slipped from that couch and
gripped my hand in yours, this
pillar became
s a l t.

and the desire to be the shape of the jigsaw space between your arms was nearly unbearable.

& i remember me
skinnydipping my way through magazines
robotically playing out scenes which
perpetually perpetuated
images of my own self un-worth.

& there was you
tripped in the dip in my doorway, you
laughing like a crackling whip
slip...ping in between my sheets, tumbling your fingers down the rises and dips in my spine, not like the
dipshit
i let do that last time

& then there was us
a formidable display of how
hydrogen and oxygen
[complete opposites]
cling to one another and i
sip
us in
breathe us
in-lung-in-frantic breath
watching us chip-and-dipping our way through parties
dipping in and out of other people's points' of view,
so sharp sometimes they dip in and prick with sharp teeth;
draw blood and
draw on our stomachs with chalkdusted fingernails

& outside the door to the universe of my bedroom the faucet was dripdripdripping
we dip the same water to our chapped lips
coveting lipsticks
and chapsticks
hand-dipped candlesticks and
bundles
of sticks.

we were the tiny pinpricks of white light
on the midnight of my bedsheets

you were the big dipper and
i was orion's belt.
u n d o n e.

& when you can't eat
the only way to fight hunger
is sleep.

11/26/2002

Posted on 11/26/2002
Copyright © 2024 Brynn Dizack