No one believes me when I
talk about your eyelashes. Made of
length and light. Orgasmic; daisy breath. I
will harvest one. Keep it in my
pocket. Spend it like currency; save
it like a life.
Just beyond the
fragility of this moment, cars blur
pass. For three nights, we made this bus our bed. Overlapping bodies. Crazed emptiness. You bought the tickets: I trust you picked
the right destination.
(But I can’t drink a glass of
water unless I poured it myself.)
We’re on fire; we’re underground. You
smell like stone and my voice
is a manic lullaby of I guess. Those
eyelashes meet and tangle.
It’s earthquaking here; wake up.
I dream you.
* * * * *
Marlee Cox at age 15 won one of the Glass Woman Prize awards in 2011 for her amazing story "Collapse."