Inhale – deep – suspicious
under cotton clovers
in sharp seconds
a shiver – liquid skin
slithers down my spine
in wet pulse
I have your fingerprints
matched to mine
one – quick – minute
Time is essential – a sport
your goal
not mine
You kick – I lunge
inhale
a deep block
a curve over a thousand threads
stretched – an ultimate match
two pasts
two people
two moments connected
for one final win
Keep talking.
The kitchen has gentle
butchering knives.
“Today’s Sunday. I need to speak to you.”
Take Sunday back, then. Drown it!
Slaughter it!
Sunday is starving itself in a fit of tension;
leather skin begging for lotion.
Weak days have poor eating habits.
Anxious bellies roll,
tumbling rejection
around,
around.
Unsafe.
Unsound.
Un-Sunday, then keep talking!
Your speech has sharp fingertips,
jabbing at my spider webs,
my sticky, thick mesh.
Un-Sunday, then
cut jelly rolls,
tumble Sunday
around,
around.
Without rejection.
Safe.
Sound.
maggiemaeijustsaythis 