la petit mort

If you unbraid my hair
all my love will tumble towards you.
I’ll arch like a stroked cat
to your descending hand.
At your bite to my lip
all the truth inside me will sing out
and i will cease to remember
my damage,
or even
the other girl
you love.

get all the good

After spending the day
with other people’s words,
We turn up the volume
and stomp.
We put down cups,
move away from poetry glass,
and lift hands.
We shake our crooked postures
We shimmy our souls
We pulse like stars
to tell the earth our joy
And we will always
welcome you
to do the same.