Cross-Breeze
blood-lit sun nicking the skin
of trees, shaving too close to the muscle,
we missed the sunset but still scrambled
to swallow its last breaths. you wanted
to show me the edge of the world: how pink
a horizon could become, at the right slit of day.
together on the jaw of the water, dusk drooling
lavender, lover’s spit spilling
down the face of the sky, and i’m tired of swimming
alone, alright, it’s true, me—
silt loosened from the bottom-
growth of dead matter and cracked oyster shells, coaxed
to the surface. all water has a perfect memory
is what toni morrison says: water is a perfect resin:
holds a scene hostage to mirror
its particular bouquet of light. I was wearing
your sweater. balancing in wet sneakers on algae-slicked
stones, watching you
skip rock after rock, we were almost alone. you raised
your arm like you were flexing: promised
you weren’t: traced the crook of your inner elbow and said this
is the cape, this is where we are right now, taught me how to see
what it was we were standing on, anyways.
Halloween, 2022
We were standing in someone’s living room. We were gutting the scenes around us like fish, tearing silver and scales from each warm body, laughing at the mess, laughing at ourselves, too.
Me with white-blonde synthetic hair, black lace and bruised lipstick miming a real girl, or at least a wantable ghost. We were standing too close, but I wanted to be closer. I keep coming back here, keep cutting into my own palms over and over, asking for Gatorade and makeup remover. I crush. I cleave. I deafen. Me, outstretched, waiting room, band-aid, the asking-for-a-stitch-please. Me, lamb’s meat coaxed from the bone. Heart caught between your incisors. I want to be a slim stray reed, sagebrush and jacaranda. Not this. Not a warm gun in your hands. Not a wounded dog at the foot of your feelings. How to close the gap. How to just step forward. For once.
