All These Damn Poets

A love letter of torn muscle and memory

In love, there are no real subtleties
only brash and jagged movements

One could say “In the morning dew, bluebells glistened with broken stars”
or
“Beneath your eyes a softness forms,
yielding against my sweet refrains”

All these damned poets
encasing their words with flowers and sentiment
What simplicity, such lucidity
to wrap such feelings in metaphors

Yet she backtracks,
her breath falters,
when I say intently
“I love you
I want to bury myself deep inside you”
How she recoils in fear

Under nighttime covers
I watch her ankles
a valley of creases
I imagine all life forms coexisting
harmoniously between skin and bone

The surface of her body relies
on the aching movement of parasitical seasons.
These beasties cling tightly
to the steadying beat of her pulse
sounding out across the universe
telling the world that she was to be
the Sun

A river flows
between talus bone and knuckles
the flat spade root of her feet.
Each step sparks electric currents
water ebbing and flowing
dividing arid plains of skin
that remain forever untouched

Barren from soft kisses, untouched
void of love
dry skin peels
deserting weary travelers
who sought refuge from a harsh reality

These tiny feet
do not know what they carry

They simply
do not know

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