after Anne Sexton
She is all there plucked carefully.
Has saved you from the burning
thirst with water from her hair.
She has always been there,
high-heeled sparks on a summer
night as real as a pen to paper.
Let’s face it, I am a shadow.
A golden halo-ed penumbra
a beard in the midday sun like
sweetgrass between your lips.
She is your branch in a raging river
a field in the hell of your make-believe.
You were looking to experiment
but in my body found the changing weather.
My teeth roam your thigh
a place she’ll never look or know.
I send you home with a heart in half
careful not to leave my mark.
She shaves her legs with soft skills.
The bell from the tower
calling your ship to dock.
She is your monochromatic siren
clean lines and neutral tones.
All things considered, a blonde
as boring as a skull in winter’s fog.
As for me, I am wild and running from myself
A fire in this forest, leaving no sign of life.