J.R. Pearson

 

 

 

Drop

 

 

a song forged from the bare

rhythm of the night

 

& you'll hear petals fall from her voice.

Follow the sound of sweat

 

to the roar of her breath

 

in your mouth. She hums

your name with her pulse lost in the dark

 

& a magma bleed from a Milkyway

of holes in your chest.

 

Hours after Geronimo walks the skyline,

silent tongue-tips feather stones

 

in a held breath before an Apache tracker's sunrise.

 

Eight legs of daybreak climb forearms

& drink a bead of sweat from wet hair

 

horned by your bad collar.

Cygnus opens its last luminous wing

 

across the sky's black mouth

 

& she winks at the dead air

in an eavesdropper's lust for padded vice grips.

 

You recite the underground alphabet

tattooed on the back of your eyelids

 

& think of the last honeydew

that sings in the summer sun.

 

 

 

J.R. Pearson © 2009