mango
of thought
three held in offering
falling on the bench
like three words
salts
bruise my hunger
ask me to notice
the single plate
we draw our answers from
grape
let us soften
our shells
so sweet hard decay
may ferment our memories
clay
instincts bare
breathe the dusk
from our feet fall impressions
we choose no words for
let
embryos in the light
re-imagine themselves
with tongues to tune
our inner
limbs
in belief
paint each other
in a song
of embrace
rain
we step naked
into the belly of our dance
we hold
our selves
and
gone
I am a soft bellied animal
I try to be something else
in green flight
my fruit falls fallen
Leyla Iten
