though i did not hear an
echo i felt safe enough to
dream--she was a woman
who waxed with red like
shoestring on a broken
playground. her eyes ladled
and served an emotion or
held onto a love like the belly
beneath, fat and moving with
a silent song's ever-morning
swim.
violently injected with a tropical
intoxicant, hands slicing open--
breaking on the insides swung
and dripped with a beat
deeper than any storm or electronic
hum. a red a crimson a starry-brush
covered her Sun in a russet spider's
web.
i breathed out a knife-sharp
twist and she collected my
strength around her waist.
