a song forged from the bare
rhythm of the night
& you'll hear petals fall from her voice.
Follow the sound of sweat
to the roar of her breath
in your mouth. She hums
your name with her pulse lost in the dark
& a magma bleed from a Milkyway
of holes in your chest.
Hours after Geronimo walks the skyline,
silent tongue-tips feather stones
in a held breath before an Apache tracker's sunrise.
Eight legs of daybreak climb forearms
& drink a bead of sweat from wet hair
horned by your bad collar.
Cygnus opens its last luminous wing
across the sky's black mouth
& she winks at the dead air
in an eavesdropper's lust for padded vice grips.
You recite the underground alphabet
tattooed on the back of your eyelids
& think of the last honeydew
that sings in the summer sun.
J.R. Pearson © 2009