23


I'm a Geisha with an electric storm
brewing in the back of her throat.
She said she liked the taste of my electricity.
And we created monsoons together.
Damp bodies rose and wove into one organ.
A whirlwind of arched spines,
spurts of wine linger on the breath, peach blossom,
orgasm.
That night, parts of my body were touched for the first time,
her fingers carved into me,
Creating hieroglyphic messages on my skin,
Her nails echoed throughout the cocoon of my body
When she tapped old tunes against the wooden heart.
I dissolve into satin sheets,
Melt into an embroidered narrative of languid sighs.
She liked to arrange the magnets on my refrigerator
into constellations,
could make flowers sprout from my old beige carpet.
She's long gone now,
but I keep hearing her car outside.
She's a lukewarm lullaby that I pour clumsily
into wine glasses at 3 o'clock at night,
a perfumed remedy that has long since dissolved into air.

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