In the Winter She Takes Me

He asked me how I felt,
“like pin drops on the skin,” I said,
and he huffed away,
an elephant from another time.

He had left before
I could explain that
I was a very odd little girl
lost in a gritty n twisted little land.
Ever still the awkward octopus
rubbing my body against
the walls at parties,
eyes shifting to my eight shoes,
listening through your words
to the other side of syllables,
walking home in the fog alone
and being afraid of my own monsters
who came creeping
regardless of the weather.

I did have the
smooth rhythms of the moon,
her headdress high,
her eyes glowing fierce gold.
She sometimes would
gently fold me
into air and expansive space
to a place
to stretch,
to linger loud,
to liven the bones,
healing sex breaths and tones.
She takes me home
in the winter.

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