#memorious

Minor Detail

I was a woman, I suffered, I was there.

Tonight the rock formations will rise while I sleep. This one a conqueror. This one a monument to the hope of forgetting. Out in the field, the wheat stalks called your name. Your hand cupped listening to a rustling like the sea.

Intimacy

Desire made a door of me and I kept it ajar.

At times around him I felt I had / died inside my unsureness.

Naïve with sweetness, the bees hive-crowd: sugar swarm the maraschino factory, siphon redness like a sunset until zaftig—honeystomachs lining silk with cordial as we triage for backrooms where we can slough off wintering: feed our own bodies so full with blood and bees that we might re-dress ourselves in the welting. Skin-close or closing: thrum like a barebulb-light; the sudden tightness of teeth next to teeth. Dear red wet match-sting in our mouths, taste we’ve been tendering-for. How speech is a pheromone that incites the alarm. And our throats—: as closed as cherries. As undivine. No grief in the swelling. In the numb bulbs left to be carried off from the hive. Such a crushed and candied liqueur: husk of bees and us, almost unrecognizable in the plush housing of dyes— blushed to a fevering, garmentless.