stomach is echo
of itself,
slightly out of step
with rest of body…
Body
I touch my stomach, tracing
the ghost of where
your hand gently squeezed,
marveling that you like…
I encircle your waist
you hold me tight
like the world isn’t ending…
What if you decided
to write the thing
just to prove to yourself
that you don’t want….
Slowly
it returns
the mental image
the bodyprint emanating from
my brain
I was sitting in the beige chair…
fists raised
inside my lungs,
ready to battle
the grenade
who dares…
I cannot, will not ask,
of course, it’s not my business,
but I am curious…..
you cry, you dry
your face,
you try to work again,
you tell someone…
Kinetic means sand
sliding in and out of the jar
Kinetic means stirring the milk
so it doesn’t burn…
Daily Poets 