clay woman;
the womb of her belly
earthen dirt mixed with water
bled on the sheets
during the fire of passion
and whispered in the wind
love, love, love
as his hands shaped her
into his desire
and she dried and cracked and broke
not having been watered
dust woman;
I really love this poem. It’s speaks to the fragility of our relationships, not just with one another, but with the earth. Lovely. Sad.
Oh. Beautiful poem of pain and love and how we hurt.