Tuesday, 22 March 2011


i open my window even on the coldest morning.
moving through the world the world moves in me.
i am a woman most days. but the girl never left.
i rarely make promises. but when i do -
trust me.

i love to read your face with my fingers.
i take the scenic route. almost always.
mapping your body as the landscape it is
i tuck it safe between ribs.
i feel the blood in my veins. and sing.
...but still.

i have a penchant for giants.
regardless of physical height.
write small cartographies in order
that i might understand and remember.
because i am scared of forgetting.
i feel the recurring symbols
of my interior world etched into bones.

i love the fat full bud of a peony
before it bursts into bloom. i love
the metallic scent old coins leave on hands.
i am possessed. by a hunger.
the kind i never want sated.


Moon River said...

do you facebook?

withoutwordswouldyouknow said...

i think i am straggling among a small minority that dont have a facebook account...

peroulades said...

I love this poem you are I think a beautiful person with no hatred in your heart.

Corvapriya said...

Here's to cartographies, bones and missed poetic connections. My best to you always.

cella anita celic said...

Anonymous said...

"i love to read your face with my fingers"