My hips are falling,
sprawling themselves away from my spine,
saying they want to be their own entity
and happily weave themselves around, between,
anything and everything,
singing songs to mulberry trees,
bones and noises tiled all across the waves;
but I persuade them,
"Stay and hide beneath my skin and
keep your quiet sins within me,
ringing in my body like a selfish child whining—
this way when they break you you'll be safe,
flesh clinging to your movements,
drinking in your callous dance,
and bone shaped legs to keep you caged
away from temptation
and the like.
And perhaps if you stay you'll
something a little sweeter than a handmade hell,
like lilac scented summers tipped in
and glasses of iced tea running through you,
so you too can share time with my ankles.
But only if you'd like to stay,"
Not with my lips and my hips
fondling my body once more;
I'm sore but it's alright.
I sigh and remember my fingers mumbling
something with fluency denied to me,
most of the time.
Rip my dress,
unbutton the pearly beads,
divorcing them from slits in the fabric
until they scream at me for it,
but I don't listen;
in skin the shade of grapefruit seed,
limbs weeding between the walls,
crawling across windowsills and hills,
pillows piled high upon an empty bed.
Reborn and filled with stains
painful glances at void hallucinations
grasped within my fists…