the constellation of your history (taste)

dear internet,

i could not foretold it was going to end this way
      (this end in this now)
we promised those urgent words from joined bodies until the grave
   (both hoping that the other would hear)
   (you are my world, my true)
when i could not ask anymore
nor you
it was in that instance we knew the end had come
we fought against as swimmers to the sea

our bodies coiled slick snakes
our hands interlaced
      (legs intertwined)
i fit in a row against you
hip, thigh, breast to breast
   (you imprinted on my skin)
the smell of you dresses me up
nape of my neck, the curve of my waist
the pink of my sex, the length of my limbs
here was home


it was there i knew whatever made me exist
to make whole, was in that place
   (i admit
      i always tiptoed between open and close)
prayers answered and no amount of sacrifice too great

(but what we stated
   now we knew this was dismally untrue)

in that fissure
      (where i was safe)
everything always seemed to fall
neat little cells and otherworldly bodies
on our bodily canvas

division happening
when our bodies moved (i carry you in my heart)
that need swallowed in the air
      (as long as we were)
benediction to the other
   hearts pulsating
   bones crushing
throated moans
   silent in the air but heard through our taste

   (the root of the root and the bud of the bud)

perhaps, perhaps, perhaps (
      i go you go))


P.S. I cannot take credit of the subject line today as it comes from Melissa Febos’ fabulous long form creative non-fiction piece, Scarification. Liberal use of quotes taken from the man who eschewed punctuation, e.e. cumming’s, {i carry your heart with me(i carry it in}.

P.P.S be kind. this is the working draft of a long prose piece i’m working on

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This Day in Lisa-Universe: 2015, 2013, 2003