#fuck Pink you've given me a new poet I've been going down the Cisneros rabbit hole all day--I mean. I gotta have some kind of

[ravencromwell]

Love Poem for the Non-Believer by Sandra Cisneros

Because I miss you—I run my hand along the flat of my thigh curve of the hip mango of the ass.—Imagine it your hand across the thrum of ribs arpeggio of the breasts collarbones you adore that I don’t. My neck is thin You could cup it with one hand Yank the life from me If you wanted I’ve cut my hair You can’t tug my hair anymore A jet of black through the fingers now Your hands cool along the jaw skin of the eyelids nape of the neck soft as a mouth And when we open like apple split each other in half and have seen the heart of the heart of the heart that part you don’t I don’t show anyone the part we want to reel back as soon as it is suddenly unreeled like silk flag or the prayer call of a Mohammed we won’t have a word for this except perhaps religion.