Quiet as the breath of a field mouse, she
steals into the meadow, bare feet and a natural glow.
Toes to stones, she navigates the banks of
the winding stream in an airy dance, sinking into the water as a fiddlehead
spiraling into itself.
She is inhaled in the wind’s pickup of sweet
grasses thrashing at the backs of one another under the obsidian
after-hour thunderhead sky.
Her soul divide kicks up dusty cyclones that
displace decay and origins of life, as the humid spirit of her feminine
divine stands guard amongst the silver forked-tongues striking around.
Her body slips under to sway the silty floor,
sustaining life in the electric charge as the raging bass coils trunks and
shifts bones.
The persistent beat unhinges her rib cage,
freeing captive thoughts that sink heavy like sickness, allowing her body
to float freely to the surface.
As the two fuse again to one, her silence is
broken.
Her lips speak with the voice of a fever
breaking sweat, in consonants and vowels blushing as they’re threaded into
sentences, taboo in the heady want of her soul’s language.
Under the storm’s watchful eye she returns to land, slipping
through tall grasses as fluid music, awaiting a reply in the natural chaos of
the afterstorm approaching.
E.A. O'Connell
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