art
the samurai
a language born of soft nib
trailing sticky rouge
pressing up off the floor
art answers to my wild driver
cuts corners, sliding sideways
unravelling
this tiny golden soul from the ribbons of a patriarchal past.
ovarian ribbons, wet, sliding ribbons, sweaty, perfumed ribbons
ribbons wrapped tightly, stripping through my naked body
like art
a thoughtful sword
ribbons that hold my breath shallow when it should be deep
that blister my waist when they should kiss
that maul my power
when it should open in awe
this art is determined
deliberate
necessary
to loosen fear defined boundaries
to unwind and clarify
to sooth
to alight upon me in shades orange and pink and bring us
into rhythm
together
a symbiotic climax
momentary
simpatico
a taste of the sound of leaves
on the painted wind of time
