The arch of her heel
is wet with blood
she steps, racoon like
too lightweight for this world
pressing herself into warm wood
like a Delta 8 bowl of cream
the dreaming on her
as glitter remains after a fiesta
stubbornly stuck to our memories
hemorrhage on the cusp of never
rain comes at last
the night looks bruised with intention
deformation looks good on her, even
as pain courses lightning like
her eyes are sloes without morsel
the tender limber of her back
as she arches impossible over you
and spinning away
becomes the past
and all your glorious recollections.
Youth, grace, and, yes, some pain – But to have such a memory … OH!
Yes to this right here:
“the tender limber of her back
as she arches impossible over you
and spinning away
becomes the past
and all your glorious recollections”
This is a musical event all by itself. So rhythmic and powerful and expressive, Candice.
Beautifully nostalgic