the paper globe.

i swaddled my sin in lace
before i heard a knocking
on my door
 
cabbage and beet soup
candles and wax
melting, slick
teardrops slipping off slender body
 
my knee quivers in expectation
callused heel tapping the cold ground
my stomach yearning for
more than the
potatoes i chew
the bone broth i guzzle
i drink it to feel full
but satisfaction continues to elude me
 
the sheer garnet curtain over the window
has cat scratches at its feet
marred for escape or discovery or
something in between
 
the floorboards creak
as i am led toward the bed
my skin skimmed with tender hands
i am told
my form is his fulcrum
traversing through limbo
i surrender my body as an argument
for the dismantling of his reticence
 
my tongue in his throat
our shared oxygen
stimulating the space
within the basilica of his skull
he shifts on my axis
 
perhaps me, on him
 
the wind turns the
globe on my desk
darkness fails my vision
but i hope
the morning brings him clarity
 
when he stands
at the place of the beginning
of his departure
 
he pauses
rotating
no longer needing the paper globe
for direction of home
 
he settles back
warm against linen sheets and skin