i was made from boiled sugar
in the backroom. every shut door
gave me breath. ink in the ink well
turned silver with with my sweetness.
not a ghost but a ghost clipper.
trimming the edges
where there used to be ruffle.
tell me you love me like
you will never cross the river. tell me
you will stay awake past the death of the moon.
i have been keeping vigil as the sun
undresses & crosses arms over chest.
in my bowls i am often not the spoon
or the strawberry. who taught you red?
who did you eat past their limits?
i have a draw full of eyelashes
in case i have to go anywhere tonight.
stirring my heart with cubes
of salt. the party was made from
icicles. we covered our heads with
our hands. i needed more. cut a hole
in your door with a paring knife.
called you "pear." soft as a word.
my pillow full of nowhere. come, please.
i need to be handled. i am turning
the volume low as it will go.
can you still hear the bicycle?
i am not on my way. i am backwards
in the boat. the river is rewind
& i follow like a fruit fly.