when the day collapses early
before I’ve even dressed
when I drop my talisman
down the kitchen sink
when I find my cheek once more
beneath your planted heel
I think of things of no weight,
the kind that I might tuck behind my ear,
or in the silk pouch by the door
a gentian,
a thimble,
my gathered baby teeth
and I imagine burying them beneath me
a fairy ring, a funeral
for the soft parts of me that know only
the kiss of your
backhand.
CarnivalDark 