I wake to break you into clean shard
and pulse, so that I may carry you, gather
each lush piece to me like grain. Here, the tempered
mouth; here, the knee bulged to bone, all of you,
grossly mortal. I wake to etch the walls
in tender hieroglyphics, our plans for the day,
to lodge the pearled drop of sun into my flesh,
so that I may keep you. You find me reverent,
obscene, my mind loose in its own timid flame.
But without you, I am vapor, steam. I wake
and am afraid, stretch my eyes like shades
to undress you, dagger-boned, so that all
that remains in the light is sinew, stone.



§ § §

Lauren Fanelli is originally from New Jersey, and she does not apologize for this.

A recent graduate of Cornell University, she is currently pursuing her MFA in poetry at American University in Washington, D.C. where she serves as Poetry Editor for Folio.

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This piece was first published in INK POT #4- 2004, a literary journal.

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