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Sweet
spine; arching earthquakes
It is so strange to be reminded every day of the first person I ever loved.
(i am not a flower.
i am not an ocean. i am madness.)
+
she lights a candle. je pense...
but i cannot think.
perhaps tomorrow will
be better, little one.
and the heart/theheart/cries out.
there is forgiveness
in quiet.
the candle's wick splits.threads
know her body.
flames gather. the nebula is reborn.
coiling ashes of spine.
how can vertebrae
be so
beautiful?
the beauty of my own
back terrifies me.
(saliva - line - tongue
- skinandbone)
one scar.
one flame.
one (precious?) body.
a galaxy within.
+
The need to arch my back haunts me.
-Emily
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