by VANESSA DEWOLF
1. The Pink Room
preparation. interruption. in the middle, about to....
and her insides were gilded, silver tampons like twins
Handled by teenagers. Pinked, tinged & saturated
hiding limbless, all-limbed body submerged. My bathroom
has become a frame. I'm not as warm as you might think,
this is going to happen. And how long will it blink? teenager linger
in every one-bedroom, studio, high-rise, apartment building of no
architectural significance, repeating through all adulthood.
Pink that is not edible, not jordan-almond. Melmac & swaths.
are not shadows, and while an aperture opened, an eye spied the whole scenario
erect yet unarmed and potential.
Old women with umbrellas and rain don't want to remember the looking
those nightly preparations, what they pink into is their own smoothness
a youth not dire without apertures and binoculars and slick thumping,
a sudsy full sink and we will return and they will. they'll be back.
2. On the virginal day and what we gave away
I'm not telling you the secret. I'm not letting you in on my cycle. I'm not gonna let you come between us and you with your binoculars, sliver of space between curtains. You and your together thighs. I'm not saying we will avoid ALL the candy / even with our backs to the fortifying wall we squeeze past the corners brushing the nylon edges the hems and keep our eyes looking down. Aware of our fertile gestures & bodies suggestive, implying an infinity you lick for. Holding loose hair to each other, waiting in restroom stalls and after we got into our bathing suits / and YES our interior surfaces are gilded holding plump form of the time that we will spiral out of.