Day 50 of 50 Poems/50 Days

Matrëshka

She sees me,
and plugs her fingers into my ears,
making the circus disappear,
my grip increases,
as I fall,
under the water,
to her toes,
kiss them one by one,
give them each names,
as if they belonged to me,
as if I could carry them home.

She spins me dizzy,
teaching me to dance like the hurricanes,
I find myself orbiting closer, further,
saying hello and goodbye with no words.

She whispers ‘abracadabra’,
as she cuts me in half,
letting my orphan out to roam –
and so the boy explores,
crawls between those lips,
into her dark mouth,
where I can watch my stars –
and be the breath to her trumpet,
be the David for her Goliath,
be the pillow as she dreams.

We blow into one another,
playing each other’s song,
but she plays me better,
making me move much better,
making sure I crumble into her arms.

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