Stretched wide across mountains and valleys,
clusters of hills and springs of rivers,
a soft brown veil dusted with gold.
Take a long nail, pry it aside,
come, see what’s within for a modest fine.
My flesh, a soft pink for a childhood much missed,
my blood, a loud red for all the shocks I’m full of,
my bone, I’m not too sure for none have travelled far
but if you pressed me hard enough, you’d feel it -
scrolls of poems written and yet to be,
my tongue a ribbon binding them all,
my teeth an ivory chest to contain them,
and sweet lips carefully locking them for now.
A treasure trove awaits those
of my blood and water,
presented on a silver platter under
a soft brown veil dusted with gold
stretched wide across mountains and valleys,
clusters of hills and springs of rivers.