fiona

“I ran my hands o’er a strange inversion…”
and she made me hear
the tears in a woman’s climax
and the longing sensation
and the unique pain
and their smoky memories
how a person so young
spoke with such clarity
and honesty is beyond me
as I learn to respect the curt
and brutal, truthful messenger
pigeons of the word
so much rainbow oil in
windblown plumage
east coast jaw line set in
stout resolution, short sharp
sentences unlike the tripe
you’re reading now
I want to tear you apart at
the seams of those jeans
until I hear a tune so sexy
I almost cry at this desk
and I am at the mercy of
a teenage girl somewhere
in the past, penning music to
fuck and die to