hours inside out

i’ve decided

to live with the rotten

pomegranate tree. no more

running my hand against the blade

of my shame. i was the open

door with no hinges or knobs

or frame

your thighs & someone

loves you: loves the lake

loves the chest loves

the trail of wet left

walk etched with

our names remember memory

itself how once

it was looking

it was looking

out the window all before

learning the meaning

of color by wearing black

in the sun & absorbing