they call her the poet

she speaks in poetry
with her lips tucked safely behind her fingers,
a pen in one hand,
bruises in the other

they say home is where the heart is
she lives inside her lovers mouth.

her curly black locks shine red beneath the sun.
she is shy but still she smiles with parted lips

the eyes are a synonym for 'never'
yet she goes on saying 'always'
bones sit atop her wrist
and speak in a voice like sharpening pencils.

she loves with an intelligence
that the world would never notice

and screws line the bending spine
she takes pride in her surgical scars.




9/1/10