little death scenes
once again her eyeglass lens disappears into a snow angel.
this happens at night. when she gets on her knees, she feels
pinched nipples, little rosebuds, a garland around her neck
pulling her breath taut. against her chest, the cold fur.
then the small clutch of albino marmoset, the shudder,
the glistening muff. she releases a plume of steam,
flares nostrils like a petite sleigh ride steed.
this happens at night. when she dreams the pink insides, she hears
pearlescent canals, lobes that rose when nibbled into lace.
how the frothiness stiffens and peaks like meringue,
adorned by exotic fruit. the chokecherry is the darkest one,
he whispers in her ear and she is almost ready to levitate.
the pinkies she thought were numb begin to tingle, invisible piano wire
pulling her fingers taut. as she rises up, the nerve endings singe
then flutter, then freeze. her split ends breed icicles.
this happens at night. when she dreams she is a whooping cough, wrapped up
in a pretty little handkerchief, fine teeth lurking underneath.
he unbinds her mouth, wet petals pour out, eyelash lace drips and she faints
into the ache of consumption. sweet monkey, sweet angel face,
sweet egg whites and caster sugar whipped into featherweight.
she floats just above her own imprint, her tiny glittering cave.
her head a panoramic sugar egg with byzantine tunnels,
pink figurines, a secret room devoted to pavlova,
adorned by doll's eyes. so still she could be zipped into a garment bag
for the buttons on an empty party dress to flirt with blue fingers.
~
"Little Death Scenes" first appeared in Combatives (Vol. 2, #1) (a print/online companion to the online journal H_NGM_N, presenting the work of a single author).
