Limbs,
free-falling, made of taut atoms pulled into planes
and loosened into curves.
Tatters of skin patched together and dappled with tiny pits of oil;
Bulges rise and fall beneath the
carefully sewn garment.
Nails,
hardened by time,
lightly scrape through the old flesh and fling it away;
White half moons etched
on pink skies
constantly bitten to frazzled peaks.
Fat,
glistening lies in red pools,
wrapped around the tight tendons
makes love to the bone, comforts the
breaks and bruises, folds around the cold muscle,
and bubbles the blood into warm blankets.
Bones,
slide in blood and flesh,
hard and hollow, filled with creamy meat,
they move in rhythm with the heart beat.
Heart,
Pounds, gathers breathy poems to carry to barren cells,
And the veins – blue and bursting
with need – echo with the rush of the heart’s desire.
