length

in monday’s fog
she arrives, a knife
slicing through the grey
haze encasing me.  her fingers
feather my eyelids, telling
me to unwrap my story.
here it is:  i was broken, my
nerves crawling snakes from
the width of me but
she, she with that touch, that
moon on her side twisting
to the stars, she is still the fold
in my heart.  i move against
her soft length, the braids
in her hair twining against my
own shaken hands.

i hold the

length of her.

her miles, the wisdom
hidden in her like a pearl,

gifted.