April 5: Bodies Known, Emerging, Unknown

I.

And her body still holds you in its memory; your heat and humor and the hands that held her eyes open. If you came by tonight, she would take a knife and gently slice it along your hip, that golden hip with the skin pulled tight and smooth, and she would slice the knife over her palm and she would press your blood together. Then, her body would not only remember you, but hold you within it, in flesh, in food that feeds her skin and passes oxygen to her lungs and you would travel through her neck, arms and lips, to the tips of her fingers. Then, there would be that chance, that one day, she could re-open her palm, and bleed you out of her.

II.


III.

Then, I will write over your body in black ink, the kind that takes the longest to fade. I will write my name down your spine, and jokes around your toes. I will cover you in cursive, in pretty words, around your knees and elbows, bracelets of script. Your left index will be beloved and your feet will be inspired. Your ribs will say companion, and your hands desire. For a week, for two, your flesh will be all poetry and art and gift. You will carry centuries old love, my love, around on living skin, bravely, under the beauty that is the sun.