Daily Archives: April 7, 2019

Drawing on Skin

Suzanne pushed her breasts up, soft globes of petaled skin,
and arched her neck back, eyes closed as if half asleep.
From one angle she looks gracefully relaxed, chin
tucked under, edging toward being a boneless heap,
some final abandonment. While from another,
the quiet conceals nothing of her triumph,
her glorious defiance. Why should a mother
not trace lace and lines, not carve from her flesh giants,
not be beautiful in whatever way she is?
Let women sprout orchids with open throats, lilies
chained around the necks of tigers. Go forth, she says,
exist as art. Coconut milk drips from you, bees
honey-dance by your lips. There is a heat
muscles knot over bone, burning beneath each teat.

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