Hourglass

Separating skin from a tree
is a faint task, like
twisting glass back to sand.

Long, narrow veins exposed to chaos,
leave their limbs. I climb inside
them for hydration.

I’m a fish, shallow in water,
borrowing lungs from
a human.

Don’t make it glacial,
blue is the true color.
It is royal.
It is blood.
I am oxygen and it feels good!

My husband left me sweltering
during the ripe moon. I grew
ripe, too; a full cherry
hunger in a bottle
of Gin.

Then this tree, he’s latched on
to me. I pour my fingernails
in. He knows his strength
matches me tightly.
We seize together on Earth’s early
tremor, and just as I start to peel,
layer by layer,

his exposed veins melt into
venom, he turns me,
my swift hourglass
resets, twisting sand
back into glass.

Eden Aquatic

She wears a wet blue dress
and if you undress her
she is not vulnerable or
violated.  She is a curved
and proud body;
fertile.

He is molded. He is ceramic mannequins turning sick
against the sea.  Noon splits pavement and silicon swallows
in a frenzied gulp.

She is airless, something to know and fear.

When clouds steal our stars, she calls to the moon, carrying all of her love and loyalty back to shore,

while he steals her pearls
in the dark.