by Jacqueline Markowski
Our hair was long, tangled, smoky. Lipstick
and mascara stains, unraveling
sheets. After the 2am migration,
bars closed, where could we possibly go
from there? I knew you let small truths slip
past big moments before we came
back to my house, to my bed. I also knew resistance
would not harmonize in still water. Your kiss,
a peach, your lips fat with directives.
My mouth became a warm candle of images—
what daylight might bring to our side-
show. Words didn’t fail, they were swallowed
by lateral grief and stretched currencies. We were hungry,
plain. The measure of symmetry has always been
a grey area, really. What’s one more complication
among women like us? Morning
brought a continuum, a babbling of days
and years. A need for smooth water will
find us again, together or not, but still,
a living language mapped and navigated
by our kind.
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