in petrichor,
fingers spread
lotion of buttermilk then beaten
yolk, dredged in pollen
gasping in the low
sling of a hammock.
careless bride,
dress of billowing stone.
how they cupped your
golden cheek & careened
you to god’s paper hands.
oils confessed, grazed
you bare by a father’s
plastic tongue. loosing
your coiffure that spools
you into its own
spindle, bone lodged in your throat
hollowing the wind.
sour odor shook
from your untouched seed.
uprooted, thorny legs
open to the sound
of absent milk, of leaves
that refuse to bloom
red. despite the bleed
the rib cannot live
while being lived in
by this body.