in petrichor,fingers spreadlotion of buttermilk then beatenyolk, dredged in pollengasping in the lowsling of a hammock.careless bride,dress of billowing stone.how they cupped yourgolden cheek & careenedyou to god’s paper hands.oils confessed, grazedyou bare by a father’splastic tongue. loosingyour coiffure that spoolsyou into its own
spindle, bone lodged in your throathollowing the wind.sour odor shookfrom your untouched seed.uprooted, thorny legsopen to the soundof absent milk, of leavesthat refuse to bloom
red. despite the bleedthe rib cannot livewhile being lived inby this body.