Cat13u

 Movements Green limbs unfurl- they are down-wings against skin, my belly bent outward until I am carved into a perfect skull. I stroke gently, mindful of soft patches in bone even beneath thick layers of flesh.  I want to push this tiny head back inward, to a position less foreign, but fear moves my fingers like spun glass. Stomach hard with upgrowth softens as he recurls. His flutters, once strokes more phantom than earth, are steadfast and urging now; limbs fed with the strength of ripened certainty. I long for harvest; and know close, he will smell of sweet currant, rich and thick on weighted vine, his flesh clung

The Sinews of Contentment I experienced it today. A taste that bubbled up in the back of my throat: sticky ripeness like dark molasses.  It was the flaxen tang of a preening bird, the heady shudder of a spent lover. It was unexpected and my tongue laid liquid against the sweetness of revelation. Your words crawl between my listening. Even apart our thoughts remain woven within the simplest of actions.  An indrawn breath, chin rested on palms as fingertips pad-pad against smooth temples. And the taste lingered. Such strength in simplicity. Yes, the taste lingered and suddenly I did indeed know truth: it is the melodio

Ensenada Honda, December 1997 Hands burrow.   Inches beneath the surface: sand is damp and cool with Winter remembered, and I am young.  Half-formed thoughts descend and recede like seaside creatures tethered to the tides of Ensenada Honda. And I am tethered, rhythmic chant of salt and shore curled round my limbs.  In the pre-dawn haze, eyes are milk-glass and so I imagine the sirens’ call: emerald heads thrown back until their Dulse hair cascades velvet ribbons, melody spilling over white-smoothed teeth and lips glistening with brine. Yes, I am young in the half-light, surrounded by song which swells then skulks alon