the body

the ragged bone
presses beneath damask skin
and a seam gasps
for the body
to become
a city of spires:
rib-cage and wrist
and ripped fabric

© 2019 Stellular Scribe



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death is a mother at a hearth

she imagined death as a mother at a hearth
fava beans and fennel
oregano and almond-ground pasta
set to simmer in the three-legged pot

the steam lifted her
kissed her
savory firelight bathed her
a peppered voice anointed her

she imagined death as a mother at a hearth
and such sweet regard ruined her

© 2019 Stellular Scribe

Hereafter

He holds the arms of the fever,
the wrath of the water,
and their bodies are enlarged with dreams.

They are the bodies of crushed marble,
gold, amber bone extraction,
the raw materials behind the Hereafter,
when the Nile remained in the luster of Lebanon.

A gem of her old light
softens the tongue of its severity.
And he, the only poet in the night sky
kisses her collapsed face
to taste tomorrow binding.

© 2019 Stellular Scribe

Vine and Sand

he shed a line of crystalline notes
each incandescent half-step
more unexpected than the last

a high, winding vine
creeping from an unseen branch
tendrils tendering my neck
taking root within my chest

his melody sweeps into a golden desert
of glass sand and endless thirst
and hot wind slipping in and out of me

I spin on burning soles
to avoid his lashes
I claw at the constricting song
to breathe again

© 2018 Stellular Scribe

Your Body Brought the Sea

Your body brought the sea to my bed,
cloaking me as the rushed arch of a wave,
a tide suspended,
unable to break.

Grabbing onto you is like running
my fingers through the wet of a storm.

Despite the salt and surf,
you are not cold —
quivering with mammalian heat against my chest,
holding with arms of fever
and hurricane infection.

I swim for hours.
I never drown.

© 2018 Stellular Scribe