Alexandra Daggett (Bio)
the body recalls
collision the mind cannot;
bramble and brush exist in trauma,
on the skin, and
dissonance
between tongues
he does not
deserve.
I can remember you,
here,
there is betrayal
that night—
a new covenant
as my hands connect every
constellation
descending over
watercolor crests of rose dust,
sipping from terracotta
across your forehead,
dewdrops of
valleys,
sweat, fall sour
on my lips like
nectar,
gingerly
but inexorably
cradling
your each exhalation
(the absence of silence)
like splintered glass—
my mouth tastes
floral
in the morning,
candied addiction
matched in jade pools,
your mouth at my throat
slurring
again
sticky, slow,
like honeycomb,
there is so much movement
in you, dear…
and I’m murmuring
some women deserve
to be loved
so much more
than men are capable of