posted February 9, 2025
For M.
your worn denim
tastes like detergent
I hear the scent
of your belt
metal and leather
your grip firm
and carefully
friendly at the base
of my neck
your fingers
a mother cat’s teeth
whether in
or out of the body
I know not
god knows
I am lifted
out of myself
my whole spine
a spool of thread
sewn back
together with itself
I click
like beads
pooled in your hands