"Soft of Lover's Silk" by Giacomo Pope
Holding tweezers you pull in long lines
vein’s burst blossom. Waxed thread
with feather frayed petal ends wound delicately
in neat coils, spooled around dried bone,
placed in lines by sharp needles
to stitch pulsing openings.
Collecting eyelashes from our floor
you dress my naked eyes.
“These will hold your tears,” you say
each word orange scented, drying beads of glue.
In glass jars: the milk and oil I’ve vomited,
labels with the dates and holes they fell from.
“I am heavy with you, my body bloated and swollen.
My hands are now full and you have spilt dark puddles.”
I think of how many times you have collected me,
linen rags wringing tight knots to drip me back
into lip-lined holes.
How with each kiss you fill atrophied lung that hangs
torn tissue across the cracks of each sun bleached rib.
I see the tin box filled with anger spat teeth.
I remember how cotton studded gums
dragged against scabbed tongue
and you would kneel, silk fingers
cold against the inside of my cheek.
Washing sadness dried purple from bruised palms
I lean into the pool above your fingers.
My eyes drink in laps, each lash ending in salt pearls
until with wet face I see each blistered knuckle
This close I can feel your chest and I am your blood
in each thin arm, pulled towards your heart across
my back. I am each collected piece you have saved,
loved in parts while shapeless.
Your warmth dries out my wounds and I am sorry
for the stains I will leave behind.