| Arsenic Lobster poetry journal |
Issue Thirty-nine Winter 2015 |
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| What We’ll Do Kristin LaTour Inside the meaning of desire hides the idea patience. I hold your last breath in my cupped hands. Yesterday when we met the sky discovered us like a child finds two bisque dolls in the shop window, and the clouds stopped skimming, came closer for a look, stunned and unmoving. But we’re malleable, blinking mammals, not porcelain and we knew no one would own us. Patience. Even tethers can break when hard pressed. Hay spun into threads can become a metal. The breath in my hands escapes, becomes gaseous. Tomorrow the echoes will fade and our freedom will be secure. Entwine your legs in mine. We’ll break windows, bake bread, share kisses tinged with electricity and the clouds will thunder. |
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