honeydunce

The vigorous parts,
the crook of you that spills
bent back commas like
the broken necks of cilia
flattened gold wheat
of your drums beating back;

Instinct:
to defy and protect,
to hold all parallels accountable as
the rebel in me
slathers another brick in spit
pulls another retraction
curls under the swivel of light.

on the horizon,
spinning mountains with sprawling veins of dirt
leading back to here
while a callused & urgent palm
presses me forward.
The hips whine when I
halve at the middle,
roll my heart in the mud.