WHAT SEETAL SEES

. . . looking deeper . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

fluttering-slips:

Moonburn

I stayed under the moon too long.
I am silvered with lust.
Dreams flick like minnows through my eyes.
My voice is trees tossing in the wind.
I loose myself like a flock of blackbirds
storming into your face.
My lightest touch leaves blue prints,
bruises on your mind.
Desire sandpapers your skin
so thin I read the veins and arteries
maps of routes I will travel
till I lodge in your spine.
the night is our fur.
We curl inside it licking.

ย Marge Piercy
from Salt in the Afternoon, Very-Graphics, 1992.

 

 

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