next page>Joanna SondheimJOANNA
Earlier tonight I slid down the tangled sleeves of her hair and fell to the
pillow without making a sound. I am photographed in black and white this
evening, shadows and light. skin that only hints at the definition of features
once on the floor I roll in the warmth of dust and wood I can travel with the
comfort of someone's voice yelling fuck off in the alleyway and the cat that
skitters and pretends to fly outside of the door, even JOANNA'S occasional
movement, the small scratch of her hand against her cheek, the subtle pop of
a sticky nighttime mouth opening and closing again, this is safety to me I
want to be without this net, this cushion of down to land in with all of the
grace of a spider, graceless is what I want, a spitting version of me, without
soft vision and the stream of car lights blushing against the wall, this would
be my life inside the engine, JOANNA silenced for once, no sound, lack of
enunciation mistaking words for sex I breath against the slat covered glass of
the window, make imprints in the breath with my fingers, proof I exist, she
will never see JOANNA twists her body against the glare of her lamp left on
in a moment of late night paranoia, sometimes she curls like the leaves of a
plant and I yearn to pat dark soil around her edges, but tonight she is curled
like twine, coarse and thick, her thumbs squeezed tightly inside her fingers,
one foot arched, the other flexed, a confusion of intent I leave the window
and crawl to her ankle avoiding the direction of the toes that seem to be
aiming at something on the opposite wall, pull softly on the little hairs and
begin to hoist myself up to the calf my legs attach themselves to skin like
branches, I pause and let small fingers glide over my thigh, smooth as soap,
muscles that exhibit a momentary glance of underskin and I believe in cells,
something multiplies, I pull harder and reach the knee.
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