September 17, full moon
Fastening myself to you
Your words…I’m stumbling about your words
…there was something about the rugs taking up too much space to fit the rooms…Richard Brautigen’s preoccupation with death
… and keeping our clothes on
but the words are
pinched off
and placed inside my mouth
by yours.
Every part of me knows where I was pulled and twisted by you—how I yielded and sighed to you—how my skin gave way to yours.
Even my breath recalls the places it fell upon you.
And I took for granted the seamlessness of our shape until you stitched words to it—how nice it was. How very…
But somewhere between our threading and my unraveling is a tapestry of words loosening from you that I can’t gather
and in those words are the strands of you
that trip
through me.
I need to find you in the framework of your words so that they equal the impression, the indentation and perforation of your grasp
Yet it is scarcely in the fray of your words
that I fasten myself to you.
