your protruding stomach rises and falls,
the weeks tacking themselves off.
i've checked your balances,
weighed faulty measures, and still,
you're oil and water.

but my nails
tasted of your bloodlines,
each facet buried beneath scars and burns.
i cut today, for the first time in two centuries,
felt the sanguine river wash over, over.

(a cleansing, in the
apathetic wonders of creation.)

you say you've seen the world,
flat on your back,
legs spread and voice screaming.
i've heard those shrills, remember?
two summers ago while
we were wrapped in thralls and flings.

(the taste was undeniable,
wedged in my stomach,
like you were,
lodged in my ribs.)

09/19/2004

Author's Note: becca parker is to blame. sorry, guys, i'm way too distracted.

Posted on 09/20/2004
Copyright © 2024 Rachelle Howe