I’m an aim-well,
shoot sharp,
sharp-tongued,
sharp-thinking,
fast-speaking,
foot-loose,
loose-tongued,
let-loose,
woman-on-the-loose
loose woman.
Beware, honey.~Sandra Cisneros
XX
Perfection is a pine needle.
I’d like to count the leaves
in America.
Everything is silent.
Forest green.
Orgasmic.
I’d like
to prick
the present
with peripheral awareness
of everything and one thing
at once.
I’d soak up your suffering
and you would be happy, fearless.
I touched the fear in the center of my chest.
Did you?
I couldn’t climb through it.
Could you?
It’s not you or me.
It’s not meant to be.
Still.
I’d like to crawl into your ribcage.
Reside in your heart.
Walk in your shoes.
I long for the beginning.
The unpaved road.
Can we start over?
Thank you, come again?
Who are you, really?
I’m living to know.
Is this connection meaningful?
So far, time is telling me
Maybe.
