what we mean when we talk about our bodies

your eyelashes are dance stars, regular ballerinas, i could tip toe or run - whatever you wanted.  bite your lips like the end of a cherry blow pop, bubblegum songs about bodies and hands, songs that you put right back on as soon as they end. some solar systems have landed; soles and toes first into view and I am almost sure I am seeing the stars close up, on fire, I can feel the heat only a star would provide, found sleeping inside you, it slips, drips out of your eyes like sunshine, I drink this -- though it is not a liquid. the word "quenched" tells me things i've always known but never talked about, only written, &  I whisper back all of the things that I have ever wished for. A child's list -- stories, words with wings, flight and flee, the picking and choosing of pieces of the universes of my mind, the release, the explosive magnificence of the tips of existence. Just tiny baby breathing voices and sun showers -- beaming lights and feather drops, landing hot on city cement the smell is overwhelming. There'd be tiny instruments that would sound like rain or very small bells and as they all hit the ground sparingly in the very beginning of the fall a symphony written by the world would be carefully making it's way out. have i told you that you're beautiful ?


Anonymous said...

goddamn this is really good. well done.

kerrylily said...

thank you sir