The phosphorous stars at your fingertips flower and pinch me, Awaking dark milkyways like hidden veins Throughout the sulking valleys of my breast. "Throw the stars up! Again!" 5 Our serious laughter catches in the ceiling's maternal plasters, Soft as the stars that have ached to arrive there. I lie on the dazzled bed as on a silver pond, My heart a dry pine tree reaching after the sky. Fed pure starlight by your fingers 10 Anxious and cool as grapes, I shiver against you Shaking the slender constellations from your hair One star at a time. I swallow the tornado of flame That still hides its little blossom of light, unborn. I escape out of myself, dangerous, I run away with the night, 15 Anything, anything to trace the deep absence That falls backwards into your eyes like a diver. The small, mobile flagellants of your eyelids unlace me, Make me plain and open as a burst fig. Narrow-footed cats dance on the shards 20 Of the steep glass-crusted cement wall to view you. I hunch in their shoulderblades, and spray with their sex. The moon comes out of my mouth, a swollen white tongue To give you this mysterious poem.
From the collection "The Rose Lasso"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.