Put me on dear, like that long cotton shirt
the one starched white and ready to wear around
with the lovely straight lines and the pearl buttons
make a mess of me before you lay me down,
love is nothing but memories piled high
some forgotten and I know I wrinkle easily
but the comparisons unkind, the waste too much
someone was supposed to
fill me up
and sometimes my chest does swell, wonder flows in
but the tide tends to be unpredictable
there is no organized system of celestial bodies to move me
just questions inside of questions, uncertainty
and the sensation of ghosts using my mouth to breathe
making me a stranger
always new lines, alien scars on alien hands
where did you come from reflection
make your home with someone else
your eyes are infinity, they open and speak
but say nothing, remarkable but void, vast but meaningless
it is with blind faith that I believe there is someone behind them
where do you go when they close
is it as the creatures that line the shore
do you spiral back into some beautiful small space
will you expand one day and leave it behind for me
I have a dire need to feel for myself whats inside
fingertips remember everything
the rub of skin, uneven texture of life
we press and press never thinking of the cells we leave behind
the amount of ourselves left on lovers,
the grittiness of dirt, the softness when combined with water
that I were a tortoise to burrow down
I too would share my secret home
if only I could surround myself with the substance that sustains us,
smooth down the brightly patterned cloth of a blouse
it tells me it exists because of someone else's hands
fingertips that have felt the salt of another continent
do they retain a memory of these dyes,
caress a box of wood inlaid with yellowing ivory
wonder how the elephant was mourned
an epitaph written across the land in the language of foot prints
the animals the carcass fed
small consolation for the cruelty of men
we will never comprehend the level with which they love
callouses hold testament to the length of memories
how long have I allowed myself to love
only paper people and alphabets
strange things for a young woman to marry
in the name of avoidance
friction can not exist where there is only one.
the one starched white and ready to wear around
with the lovely straight lines and the pearl buttons
make a mess of me before you lay me down,
love is nothing but memories piled high
some forgotten and I know I wrinkle easily
but the comparisons unkind, the waste too much
someone was supposed to
fill me up
and sometimes my chest does swell, wonder flows in
but the tide tends to be unpredictable
there is no organized system of celestial bodies to move me
just questions inside of questions, uncertainty
and the sensation of ghosts using my mouth to breathe
making me a stranger
always new lines, alien scars on alien hands
where did you come from reflection
make your home with someone else
your eyes are infinity, they open and speak
but say nothing, remarkable but void, vast but meaningless
it is with blind faith that I believe there is someone behind them
where do you go when they close
is it as the creatures that line the shore
do you spiral back into some beautiful small space
will you expand one day and leave it behind for me
I have a dire need to feel for myself whats inside
fingertips remember everything
the rub of skin, uneven texture of life
we press and press never thinking of the cells we leave behind
the amount of ourselves left on lovers,
the grittiness of dirt, the softness when combined with water
that I were a tortoise to burrow down
I too would share my secret home
if only I could surround myself with the substance that sustains us,
smooth down the brightly patterned cloth of a blouse
it tells me it exists because of someone else's hands
fingertips that have felt the salt of another continent
do they retain a memory of these dyes,
caress a box of wood inlaid with yellowing ivory
wonder how the elephant was mourned
an epitaph written across the land in the language of foot prints
the animals the carcass fed
small consolation for the cruelty of men
we will never comprehend the level with which they love
callouses hold testament to the length of memories
how long have I allowed myself to love
only paper people and alphabets
strange things for a young woman to marry
in the name of avoidance
friction can not exist where there is only one.
