blood of the covenant,
thicker than the water of the womb.
pale and paler birth want
of healthy contrast and muscles
decontracting and heartbeats
slowly slowing and freckles invent
a dance across her kiss across my lips.
she ties a celtic knot around my throat,
suffocating in a pretty way,
a pretty bruise for the pretty pale place.
if we use our naked limbs
to trace our lineage back thousands
of millions of years we find
a common ancestor or two.
i am not Adam or Eve and neither is she
able to break her tree branch bones
and fit herself into one of them,
to mold herself into the shape of a perfect
untainted human.
so we forget our roots,
we are flowers picked by
circumstance and hardship and
pale skin is not reflective. we let ourselves
recollect in
shaking breaths and ruffled hair and
ruffled feathers and loose vetements and
a whisper that tears the sheets and tapestries:
i love you.