...
...
A war of flowers
left your palms
and curled southward;
a burnt ray of Technicolor kamikazes.
With distance I pictured them
stretched about,
thought I heard
dirge, Ave Maria,
whisper them
back into the winds,
to teach girls to dance
who have had no prior experience.
Dripped between
the flushed pulp of toes,
my marionettes were tight
muscle mouths and hot
bubblegum ooze,
faint blurs of sweat
[how they twirled questions
and popped, tongues out as reddened
embryos expelled from womb]
Into light they wrapped hastily
around nerve and bone.
(elimae, 2006)