consistently nourished

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…

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