I am just a red curl inside her,
bound tight but
slippery easy, a ball of cheese in a
saltwater bag, limbs just nubs with
vestigial bear claws soft as wet skin.
My blind eyes see in deep knowing
so I already stroke
the iron-filing plush of her black cloak,
see the fishskin shine from oil taste in her blood,
hear the crack of beetle shells under her paws.
Grown in here since her long sleep and waking,
I’m borne safe and high
over snakes, over lashing thorns,
rocked careless and snoozy as she lopes.
The drum of her heart beats orange love down my back.
I shiver as her when snow falls
on late spring days.
Now on a day when she stretches long,
soaking the rare sun into her bones.
My eyes open to see bloodblack when I want light.
I want to walk with her.
I want to bite and tear the fish.
I was a red curl inside her.