three strands split: loop first then second then third
all down your honey head like a waltz
i know every step and misstep to
who's on the radio? i looove this song–
my fingernails are dancing in their fancy shoes
a fresh coat of
black marker
called nail polish
my hands are scrubbed dry from dishes and things written in pencil
and from walking on them when my feet get tired
but they are smoothed over again by
a trusted concoction: the lotion i slathered on them (the one i stole from mama's purse) that smells like
how a good memory feels plus
cold cold sweat plus
the warmth of all the pretty stuff growing
upwards from your skull. these candy-colored things, winding around each other like
vines on the walls of every garden in eden. a place where even
you and i
and all the others
can be holy.
i'm trying to show you just how holy
things could be.
•
the girl i wrote this about is so beautiful i saw her this morning she has beautiful blond hair and she's a cancer and she's smart and lovely <33 throwback to november of last year when i actually felt emotion <33
YOU ARE READING
OPEN-BRAIN SURGERY
Poetryshoved a needle in my brain and now my head won't stop bleeding