Let’s begin with skin, indurate as paint on a doorjamb,
chapped lips to cheek and collarbone, cool
hands round warm waists, caressing locks
that glisten like pennies from fountain pools;
In rapture lies a woman fashioned by the heavens,
edges still unsanded. The turn of the sea
bows the curve of her shoulder. The marble cannot yet
feel the marbler, but even fair Venus was not born free.
I’m no good at desire, but I’ll make do
with a dry mouth and a purple heart,
for so long as I can kiss and she can keen
We must chant in the dark. We must
weld like ply in the heatwaves of June, let me
weave you into my crooked loom with a yarn spun tightly.
I hear the empyrean groan in your weary, pliant pivots;
my love is a scarf and a door coming loose on her hinges.
Nad Messmer is a sophomore at Simon's Rock and Frequent Contributor to The Weekly Cad.