Uncharted territory! Galilean moons
orbit, satisfied by discovery.
Jupiter waits for your sounds,
do you hear her calling?
She dreams of your sleep,
cracked by early morning light,
pink lips opening wide,
new trees cherried by blossom
Seasons have changed.
Her great red storm hovers
like a tailed boa.
You could lay on her naked thoughts
or wear her like a shadow.
She waits, an elliptical path away,
for your sun to rise steady
on her moon.
Wake up!
Do you hear her call for you?
quick bolt tight lightning
grip, thigh deep
in thick sand
south landing mound
in palm of your hand
hot air
tumbles over bare
back, raw hide lash
prints where cougars
sit
Black panther, I pray
for a taste
of your thread,
silk lessons spinning
deep under
skin
pricked thorns leak
wildly like
we
a gesture
a kiss
a swift, single move
then tongue to tongue
a battle for the best
pulse over pulse
one
sweet
gulp
Ten thousand light years from Orion’s Arm,
my eye is naked and
distinguished. Your small satellite orbits
my dark regions with aim.
I am uninhabitable with my gas,
and dust, and hot stars
spiraling in mass distribution.
Call me Sagittarius A….
and I will call you instable,
with your fictional planets
swaying with indefinite motion,
your thick Dwarf Elliptical
cancels out my Galaxy
over and
over again.
The Universe tripped over sunspots, again.
Bring your bees to breakfast. We are born over each time the coffee pot whistles.
You reach for your strings, and I, my words, and we test out late afternoon’s
empty window. You’ll have to forgive my shaky palms and I’ll forgive your noise – we’re too soon out of blue
pills to rediscover God’s crushes and cues.
Space becomes urgent in your empty t-shirt, I spill over the kitchen counter
where love with you, is walking through a dead Universe, over and over.
Dark Mountain, whisper across
my valley, my spine.
If ever I turn like calm tide
it is toward your hot appetite,
sweating sweet pine across
empty June nights.
Blood echoes throughout
my arid river. I am twisted
in expressed wish.
Your land slides;
hands down thick mounds
of victory –
for you. For me,
you are empty;
the last trace of you drips
from the lips of
another – but where is she,
Dark Mountain, where is she?
Gather your corn cockle and doll’s eyes,
the apple orchard’s angry.
She shoots her black seeds
down your throat,
eyes pierced through skin
to watch your veins suffocate.
I met her in September
when she was frail – my mistake –
I never knew of her spines, thorns,
and thistles.
But you knew everything of her:
her laughter,
her sentiment,
her tears….
and she hid in her orchard watching
the way I would swing from your branches;
how you picked fruit ripe from my body,
how every night you crossed midnight
twisted in my edible, red
nightshade
while her delicious Golden
nectar kept well
for the worms.
Embarrassment tugs his eyes to the
left, cradling his infant courage.
He is new skin – crawling
for Jesus – drowning
in sin.
My own infant, white lipped,
sleeps like a giant next
to my hip. My blood
is metallic lead
leaking out.
The scent of iron is dark and heavy.
Mary cycles through every
woman, he reminds me.
I know. Serpents
slither – then
go.
He is the color of silence – naked eyes
following mine, stalking my quiet
like prey. His sharp honesty
brings deep claw marks
across my chest. I
still beat
life. His eyes lift,
hungry. My flesh is real,
sincerity exposed. He prays over
me, Jesus take this pain.
It was an accident, he is just.
I did not touch yesterday, like I say I did.
My fingerprints are missing.
I lost them on a glass man,
wrapped my hands around
his whiskey sour, like I shouldn’t have.
He mingled with fire over
victory, like a beast gnawing
on my shoulder
I looked over his shadow like I owned him,
but daylight quickly ended, now
here I am. Fingertips dripping
off frozen glass,
as miserable as I planned it,
and here I still sit,
alone and empty-handed.
In truth, I open my eyes.
I am punished
for my power.
I have refused water to dry people
and tied anchor to those who heard the word
and believed it.
I became a burning flame in
bedrooms of strange
men, who desire reward
like Corinthians say they deserve.
I am a sin by nature,
by thought,
by curve,
and undeserving.
I open my eyes.
I am power.
It is true.
*WARNING* THIS COULD BE A TRIGGER FOR VICTIMS OF SEXUAL ABUSE/ASSAULT
In the morning he crawls across me
pasting me with his skin
his limp tongue travels around the clock
tick….tock
I watch the fan spin my blood to a thick boil
fists tied white
chest tight
open wide…..
spiders crawl in
feeding ammunition
his slow words lock the air
his hard wear
my pulled hair
I’m twisted around this prison
caged in a dark rhythm
until the deep alarm
the heartbeat
his slimy little army marches through deep flesh
he smiles
trying to disarm me
and I watch the fan spin around and around
and wait for the
spiders to crawl out.
maggiemaeijustsaythis 