another june, another blog! it begins!

(in retrospect i will regret this conversation, except for the parts where you told me she lied) 
 ---
in the alley i bring you a handful
of the tiny bones in my ear, thrumming
with sweat from dancing,

sink my feet into a memory of rainfall
on the roof of your solarium
(a word for a roomful of sun
where we only ever sat for storm-watching).

in this story there are werewolf movies,
a well-collared shirt, the red river valley
and banjo strings pulled taut against a dry night,

the time you taught me to play the jaw-harp,
your mouth against metal against mine,
spools of wire and our teeth.

(why would i keep this story from you
when you have already heard my every breath
through your bedroom door?)

we speak the fragile rhyming
of two women in love with the same
person or country, names changed and maps
rekindled for new borders.

when we touch each other we are bridges
from the same burnt place,
somewhere we haven't quite left yet,

i know,
because your arm around my waist
is reaching past me.