tonight the moon creases dusk
into the folds of plum-burgundy linen
across my lap, dripping light
into the midrib of the tabletop anthurium
between us. when you open your mouth, hundreds
of vines ripen into thick fuschia bulbs, peeling
open to tooth gems, peppermint, and silence. i am
waiting for these thousands of closed palms, as if
in prayer, as if in admiration, to confess.
open a drawer
and toss inside my hands, glossed rings, baby hairs.
tonight, what does it matter? the world is filled
with fairies and dust, tides tuck little girls’
dreams into pockets of parched soil.