cradle

there is a house
in my imagination
strong enough to cradle all
this light in my belly
close enough, soft enough
to rock me when i stumble
indoors exhausted
from flinging rays out of me
bathing in its glow
as much world
as i can reach
& when i think of
this shack
this palace
this lean-to
firm-standing & wide open
as me
i weep
or either don’t
as often in God’s work
i am too tired
for tears

no more like this

where your breath is my bread
where my back is your
riverbed constant
my fingers your ribcage
my teeth your lucky
dominos
and i am immured in silent debt
a mortgage i pay to exist
next to you:
my blood your liquor
my wounds your airbnb
got at a steal
my story your:
-word bank
-dinner debate
-SEO content
-incipit receipt
my language your rendered fat
where i am scissors
self-incising
as you bear indifferent
consistent witness
i believe i am done
being a good woman

sound I make

they like the sound I make
when I break.
ripe tendons
tend to tune
the snap
of limbs
deliciously

this is what
I remember about lovemaking
with men:
a kind of wheezing
in the chest that rolls
over mine
throats burn
when they smell my blood

once pulled,
there is a split second
in which they look
almost human
nuzzling my hollows
soft ’til saliva
saves their mouths
from need of me

eyes click open.
they are animal again
remembering
how to leave the carcass
once it is cleaned