I wanted to feel you
inside out, while I peeled my skin
off your thorned bones.
I wanted to speak
your many names into the wind;
chant to all, “He’s mine!” Unwanted,
and as disposable as the twists
binding a reanimated heart to life, but mine.
younger than the cruellest month
taste of ancient on my tongue,
when all I want is for birdsong
to bedeck the wind
(from moon till sun),
while I gossip with frog-cups.
for NaPoWriMo with Magaly Guerrero 2015, Day 29 – This Poem Has a Mission: In three stanzas, detail what (if anything) you wish to accomplish with the poems you wrote this month, or with poetry writing in general.
linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads (Frog-Cups in New York City)
Frog-Cups (growing near my house)