Kiss Me And You Will See How Important You Are
I needed a waltz in a minefield but I also needed you.
We should have gone foraging for planets together.
An egg-shaped moon is cracking the sky’s skin
and I think we should talk—how silence
in Braille feels like tracing my thumb
across the waking rows of your teeth,
or how touching a thought, even an uneven one,
is a bad idea because they bruise so easily.
Ailing is the star, ailing the start, auditioning
for another cameo. The hungering dog wails
through the long-legged afternoon.
What shape is made when yes tumbles
from the mouth of my volcano?
Why does what we want fail so differently
from what we know we should do?
Night’s slow seduction is bound to pale.
We are still not dancing.
I’ll give you these plug-in geraniums but save me
a fistful too. Here are my hieroglyphs:
untangle them. There goes a nebula
blown in half. When you read your biography,
know my hands are sorry for misquoting you.
This is the scene in the movie
where the cowgirl lassos her own heart.
That love remains a hypothesis,
a leaped-over landmine. Our shadows
prove light still fevers in the dark.