Lip Manegio
name my cheekbones too soft
for your mouth & paint my clavicles
delicate dipping valleys
blush my cheeks merlot
flirt of a brushstroke down my neck
& i will cradle
his warmth in the crooks
of my arms right next to the figs
bursting their red
i trust in my slipping robes
in my own unbloodied shoulderblades left to rest
dappled in sunlight in the peach,
slipping out of its own skin
in my skin, forever slipping into his reach
my doe eyes sightlining
past the edge of this stretched gossamer
to the swoop of his chest
they call me boy & do not consider
my hair curling behind my ears,
my name,
or who all this fruit was for