i wonder who, through it's cage of ribs
and self made walls, sees your heart
completely naked? and not just the muscle
they preserve to display in glass jars,
but the heart that's bigger than it's edges
and is filled with light and dark and life.
life which is the evolution
of slowly giving birth to ourselves.
balanced in my dissymmetry i savour
the soft kiss of skin grazing skin.
the holiness of particular moments.
in the museum we manoeuvre
around their bones forcing timelines to merge,
forcing everything to connect
...even though it always did. more
than simply spectres in peripheral vision.
shoots break through paper thin skin
in what i hope is a kind of eternal spring.
a tangle of flowering branches
from which little deities hang; those things
with which we furnish our days and lives,
that facilitate flight, that i pray to
and am thankful for; that prevent the shadows
from being big enough to block my sun,
that keep me breathing and breathing
through bergamot filled lungs.