The Winter I Finally Lost
It was like this:a million pomegranate seeds bursting,
bleeding crimson like the introduction to womanhood that I
spent countless hours trying to deny
but despite my efforts it pushed and seeped and I was only wasting time.
Now my spine is beginning to hold itself in a perpetual arch
pressing against me
like gravity is bending from
under the weight
of longing denim gazes.
I don’t know how much longer I can
stand in this bruised body, lines painted exhausted purple
beneath thin skin.
I’m ready to release and find the sun,
fly too close and evaporate against
the dry air, wet ground.
I am ready for a hand to be placed on the small of my back, to feel the beads of sweat assembling and
trace around them like they are remembering pointillism or fingerpainting.
To feel careful and sloppy at once,
but to feel them both
because each night before I sleep I recall when I took you or you took me and led me farther down
and farther still until everything in the universe was in one point, endlessly ahead of me
the coordinates of which I was unsure and
I was so remote then,
stretched out like untouched greying hillsides
rolling ever towards the Pacific.
like the migration of birds, fervent and linear.
It’s been so long now
that I am watching myself become a memory.