/lemonade/ - a poem
/ on being/breaking your numbness… /
slathered with sweet oils and fruit butters my skin still pulps in the winter winds. i have a life full of simple pleasures. the body, a terribly incompatible temple to the mind, and not enough lavender to soothe things. bowls of soup and piles of clean fish bones, clean unfolded clothes, all well and good, yes. yet this soulless osmosis cannot be stopped through only these means.
how to break an awkward stare with a kiss,
to move from hand-holding to starry-eyed copulation. from liking the band on someone’s shirt to a deep, nearly unheard of intimacy. how to fall in love with oneself by affirming that it is okay to weep.
let’s just start here.
/ the body: a heavily armed, and sacred room. its incongruencies are only perceived.
put the mind on the table.
but do not poke it with that stick.
sing to her, softly.
sing to her.
stunning piece