Division

A poem from August 2010, a chapter marked by profound chaos. This is a phenomenal poem, though. Inspired by a moment in an Ingles parking lot.

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Thick skin is taught in my fingers

you pull a knife out of your pocket 

take it out of my hands

Neatly, with precision, you bifurcate the neon citrus

Perfect half-moon curved division

 

Returning to my hands now

I peel back the bitter wrapping

my spine tingles with scenes 

of almond colored breathing flesh

Opening just the same -- intimate and soft 

under the heat in your palm

momentarily distant and cold - miles away

I say hello 

to remnants of you that I see there, 

awash with trash, leather, blood

Orange 

I come back. Soft.

I discuss the power of the bitter skin in whiskey to stimulate digestive fire 

I caress the warm palms of your hands-- and notice they feel as soft as an infants’ 

My doe eyes drip into your slices a sweet nectar -- 

mixed thick with awe and forgetfulness.