DESTINATION

by Cathryn Cofell

In my fantasy:

Tuesday afternoon,

blinds drawn, covers kicked

to the floor, you and I

slick with sweat and oil,

bodies tight as earth and root.

I write secret words

on the sole of your left foot:

flame and temple and tether,

your hurricane face washed in genius,

your eyes wild on me,

your red, red lips on

the answers I long to hear.

In your fantasy:

morning birds peck

in an empty bath outside,

blinds wide open,

kitchen table, papers raked

to the floor, you and I

tumbling like rusty locks.

Words grind in your head:

flash and peacock and passport,

still fall into lines of pure genius

even as we steam the windows,

even as you bathe my long

pale body with lamplight and seed.

~ poem previously appeared in Sweet Curdle (Marsh River Editions)
photo, in EVErywoman (Seven Islands Press)