your poem irisé, sonorous sun and skies and then some at four

ava min | Fall 2023

I want your skin like the earth grows grass 

I want your face the sanguine way dusk does dawn, 
to clutch and cradle your body 
sturdier than mine, 
the way the night holds the moon 

when did my whole body start to ache this way, 
was it the music 
or the drinks 
slipping and twisting 
through our veins somber in the sun 
and you were there, 
thin before early rain 

or was it the night before, waves rocking your body a second time but I was already gone
pretenses laid like my head on your chest, –ah 

I wish I’d been sober that night 
to have drunk your tears and sung you a lullaby 
now I know there’s been something muted, missed– I want 

every thought you’ve suffered
every dream you’ve torn to shreds
every fear that's departed you
every violet inch of the heart that beats soft and willing beneath me

so I could gather them in the covers
and take the two of us back to that
room in pittsburgh, where it’s always a winter morning
to go back and put my hands on you like a prayer
hear me,

thinking how could violence ever,
believing something like stopped time