Pores

you hold my palms up with a stick
rubber, plastic, leather, polyester
made for action- swift, crisp, loud and quick
it churns up a glaze, like sweet munchkins
in two beady eyes, gaping at outstretched arms, theirs
held high by cymbals of power
the only music
that needs to be heard in the room
your mouth is tight, your cheeks dont flush
your eyes dont squint, not even when the cymbals
crash

vibrations reach my ears
red and puffy, my hands sting
limbs paralyzed by your posture bent
forward, nose protrudes against
bubble wrap of the little one

Little one closes her eyes

and the room becomes ocean, marble floor the sand
pearls drop gently from eyes crinkled like an oyster
fast, go faster! feet carry a sweet angel
dig deep into soft brown sugar with each step
higher, higher! wings of desire
flap through a dense, blue air
far, far! i want to jump across the sea, then fly
up to waving stars where moon awaits, whistling
ready to duet,
ballads about liking somebody,
two women dancing,
a boy who is a girl,
getting married at a buddhist temple just down the street from
the house i grew up in, and
making love in sunflower fields under an orange blaze

the last crack is numbed, barely noticeable
though red is an understatement.
the stick is back down by the side of your rigid body
and did you know your veins throbbed?
i can see them on your arms
pulsing with authority

Hands tucked back in the pockets of a pair of baggy shorts,
she walks away with a wobbly stride.
under a shivering skin, rhythm of nonchalance and
melodies of defiance ooze out from
a few augmented pores.

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