Friday, April 16, 2010

NaPoWriMo Number Fifteen

He deals her a deck, reads her in margins.
She looks decorative and lacy. See curled
intricacy in her limbs. Metal leafed and deciphered
illuvial flesh, she cradles the cups, the swords, the wands,
the death
the lovers.
Her body wraps around them wound
in painful bliss. I am relaxed in this fist, she says, unfold
me and find me coming with foretelling.
Look, he says look
at her parenthetical limbs. Theorize the
cervix of her. She becomes
finished as she still holds her crumpled
deck dealt in fixed open eyes.

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