A Pilates Instructor Says Hold There and Pulse
Raccoons like to wash what they steal.
Their little human hands turning a delicious thing over.
Little human hands that worry a thing out of their grasp.
Stone fruit found in the morning, bobbing in the pool.
The pit at my core can polish up nice like a horse chestnut.
The pit in my stomach is dug so deep
that the glossy vipers rippling down there
are often mistaken for water at the bottom of a well.
If I was warmblooded and beholden, you’d be
something to thieve, to make clean, to lose hold of.
But cold and lithe, I’m asking to be coiled into you.
To writhe in a dark that makes us water, out of reach.