mandy greer
‘your skin is something that i stir into my tea’- joanna newsom.
with two grips on your chest
i heave black lapels and the black silken-ed rest
around in a round circling around me
not squared-cornered of evenings unbound
when i found myself deep down in the pit in the midst
of my fighting fantasies
holding tight bird feathers as you stayed
for the tying the twisting of the lining
stringing tight our velvet world
closing the shade on the window’s parade
to rest foggy eyelids till morning.
