And so it came to settle into the flesh. Autumn warmth had been taught to neglect the nectarine sky, dark ivy gardens like iron mistakes, the softest for beheadings.
This had been coming for sometime but they never tell you how it will feel. Train tracks storming the cross center of the chest.
Fevered moth wings stirring up
the swell in your throat.
And the way you touch me, there and there and here,
rain moves into sunlight, wet stains upon your face
peels her teeth against the curtains, like pale eyelids eloping.
With you everything drips of descending, velvet stair cases for miles sinking to the bottom of the sea. The heels of gravity throwing lakes into stones, the dull pink tongues of gulls and we, always hungry.
If you part your lips enough that would be all you ever need to say.
Me
forever spinning collar bones looking for a way
back into the shell of who I used to be.
You
the extension of all the words unspoken between us
thunder between the mountains and the sun.
Cry for daybreak.
Cry for love,
she is in the parlor room bleeding.
Eyes always too protruding. Hands around the air we breath. Nothing to keep us together. Nothing for an ending to embrace.
Allison Marie Conway 