the blood of home

did i predict this sponge of death
sopping me up like buttermilk risen
to dance in thick white milk

you spoil me, sister, by keeping secrets
in your womb

the tongue you flick flirts from a mouth
red as ripe apples
lush as this scream in my throat

wheat and wind welcome me home
on the scent of burnt black rubber
a dotted line of no crossing
flashes past my memory
though I cannot remember the drive
i remember traveling

your furs and flesh lure muscle and promise
into heat whispers and water

we are nin’s bijou and basque
honeyed and heavy-lidded
under pale yellow streetlight

i know your stories like my lifelines
your blood is in my veins; we drink of life together

we feed on stone, salt, and crusts of earth
you swing above me just out of reach
tantalizing as the fruit must have been to eve

welcome again my soil into your bed
with teeth broken into shards
moonlight will replenish us
bone and enamel