Whitney H.B.


Raindrops lick her star-gazed pricked skin
As sensory as her ancestors,
Anatomically autonomy, among her own-
her pores open and swallow.
And when the first autumn filled
cool air crush- she’s been scribbling in her journal, returns home to her epidermis,
Lifts each follicle to say, “I’m here, before you face”
She can’t help but lift up too, her mouth’s edges as an offering.
“Welcome back.”
The bottom of her bare bones,
“Rigid connective tissue”
Dense and sweet like honey-comb
Sinks into the plushness, of her feet’s padded parts,
slightly above the ground beneath her
Each step, sways the two beings into one
Making her a molecule
An expression of static excitement.
An affinity for earth,
slipping between energies, naked and predisposed to decay.
All stars burn out and cool off, like a dessert, she thinks, let’s salivate to take it in lovingly
Suck on
tart, bitter, flesh,
Cherry ripening
She feels a warmth within begin to radiate,
From places deep inside the pit of her fruit
Exchanges glances with the pigment in the sky, dilating
Inhales the crispest scent of salt and sunflowers
Of the chemicals she chooses to participates in
Laundry detergent and oxytocin
Comes inside
Washes off the dirt of her and earth in a hot water shower
She’ll take it with her and rinse, again.