Your Mother, Hiding Behind Her Hand
shining like a fawn 
at the subway stop
your palm right 
here/on my neck
inside you
white irises
 
in a plastic vase
talk softly 
the numbers shift/flow 
like the poison 
burning 
cursive 
on my calves
lucky charms and milk
spill from the gold
of your teeth
 
No comments:
Post a Comment