Dilation
It's hard to pinch my pen
between the thumb and index
finger; and press the skin
against its plastic shell
To crush the bone and watch
the ink – a pupil; dark,
dilated – soaking through
my faded piece of page.
It's wide-eyed and empty.
A Kiss
A pit, a swinging bridge between two birds, bodies perching on the branches of wide-eyed birch trees speaking through sensation – wind whipping baby blossoms and brushing feathers spreading.
The mouth, gaping and black, stretching time with two fingers curled in lip corners. The birds, fledgling little flyers, crane their necks, lock their eyes, flitting feathers kissing scar tissue.
The horizon spits out the sun, chased by two birds catching fire, dancing with daylight as they stumble through Before and hurtle towards After. The result: a collision of planetary bodies. No, a Big Bang.
Twenty years and twenty million miles, for just a kiss.
