Laundry

how you?

i… well—

i get better.
not fully, but getting.

awkwardly clothespinned
and out to dry
scarecrow limbs
stuffed with such breakable material…
(to my core, easily combustible)
as long as i hang here,
my rickets upon rickets upon—
          crack.

i make the sound of a giraffe.
or a turtle.
the potentiality of a squawk—
          a feeble warble,
          attempt at emotion.
i can not what (forceful) speech is.

i'm just a –
with a small rootless flower of love growing
in the far left corner of the circle…
if you were smart, you'd cut and run but
i want you to get so far under my skin you could lick my heart.

and This is the stretching for you, I think.
This is the pulling the tightness out.
it's uncomfortable.
and hurts a little.
but it gets easier
because i relax into it.

once i am used to the ebb and flow, i won't be so… ish.
it's been so long since I sailed on anything
i've almost forgotten how