hair—
dog-eared,
behind mine,
all is godly in the dark//
with hair,
caught between teeth,
or back of throat
coughed up,
I ask,
“I’m a good girl?
or maybe it’s a statement.
“You’re a woman,
and you’re stunning.” he says
I cry, and survive inside your stoic.
You are the nail that drives me,
the thorn that stays pinched,
the insignificant,
the prosaic wearied beat
of heart against mine—
you worry about it jumping out of your chest,
spilt like wine, all over me—
I dance,
my hair,
undone,
unfurled,
it is pages thrown into a fire.
it is accent
thick &
heavy
with a place
I’d rather burn//
I have no words,
no hair,
caught between teeth,
or back of throat
coughed up,
I burn loudly
a song
before language…
