bodies of work

a cherry light surrounds us-it's the morning flowering 'round us-
and here is what I'm thinking on this shiny crimson day:
of my hip bones and your track marks,
guessing which belongs to who and what belongs to which
and who of us is what at the end of the day anyway.
My veins are quivering blue under thin skin as I step.
Your eyes are unsteady, the colours all unanchored,
and I am thinking something without knowing I am thinking;
that both our sets of bones once were pressed from stone
once our four wrists wrung out straight from rock;
and something in us remembers being air, a long time back,
when we were water, and now our skin is crying,
trying to be cast back to the water, returned again to atmosphere.
it's been a long hard sweaty tired-out sorta day
I'm sure I thought we knew what we were doing once
I'm sure, at least I think I thought that we should get some sun on us
but here we are, and the light is falling gorgeous all around us,
sun is pouring pouring pouring, rushing fresh toward us
but all I'm thinking is your eyes your eyes and about your eyes some more
your blue and blank unnatural eyes but nothing to be seen.