Creation of Eve/Sleep of Adam
My ribcage should blossom soon.
I wait the long hours of an afternoon
for blooms. I imagine soul within skin,
a housecat that hides behind a curtain
on the windowsill with the dust. Flowers
in body seem more reasonable. Peonies,
I think pink peonies, petals soft as feathers,
downy flowers will bud soon with sun.
The bones of my ribcage articulate to one
another under my skin, hidden roots
that have yet to produce. I wait for symbol,
for my bones to reduce. Another Adam and Eve,
you gave a rib to me. If love is our Eden,
a paradise, why am I alone? A peony petal,
a single rib, he loves me, he loves me
not. In your sleep, you bleed, I bloom.
See the deep roots, my petals spread,
invert their curves. Tell me I am beautiful.
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