These bodies weren’t made for poems

 

These bodies weren’t made for

poems—i say as you open

me—a page turn—

fold—crease this body

let’s come back to this—

let’s keep

book marks—

each other’s skeletons

written napkins—

back pockets full of

left turns—

these bodies weren’t

made for poems—

these bodies were made

for your mouth on my neck—

i met you & you found

page numbers on my

hips—

pearls under my tongue—

strum my throat—

& i will reverberate—

you reverberate in me—

& the walls know your name—

they tease me—they tell

me your body was a shadow

i cannot keep—

your body was a handful of

words

only written

against a silent sliver of

moon—there was no

part of us to be contained—

ceiling grew feathers—

coughed clouds—

skin to skin to skin

to binding of a book

i call my spine—

forgive me now for

keeping your shadow—

for pulling out handfuls

stars like blue berries—

for eating the whole moon

a sour grapefruit—

this is all because my skin

has a haphazard halo—

a glow—

your finger prints &

i’m adrift

in them like

labyrinths— these bodies

these bodies

oh your body

was not made to fit

in a poem—