She's

She’s cinnamon on the tongue,

and deep lung air,

the space between heartbeats,

and dreamless seconds. She’s 

gravity and bent light, years of inescapable

regret. She’s a bruised tattoo and a muffled note

sounding sad negation, baby skin, and

straight flush vertigo; queen high,

aphasia, and too much wine.

The beginning’s whispered word and

insomnia. She’s finish line sweat

and denied kisses, dew wet roses and ropes

bathed in starlight. She’s candle wax and

burnt offerings, a razor wrist, the atom split,

lightning dance and a tear of joy. She’s a child

tickled too long and quivering lip. 

She’s dragon chasing

smoke raised in prayer, a C4 bunny,

three to a match and a bullet; 

to whom it may concern, sucking

chest wound heartbreak. She’s

crime in a $4 T-shirt and yesterday’s

shorts. She’s her smile and walk,

cricket comfort and lumbering grace, 

electrochemical shock therapy. She’s

the fast right hand captured in unnatural acts.

She’s unclean thoughts, and unrepentance,

salvation offered only in darkness. She’s

the better half of a timeless equation, π

factored past infinity, an easy answer

to an impossible problem. She’s unknown

and unknowable, an unopened gift

gathering dust,

another man’s name on the tag.