the soft parts go first.
they slough away in the hot breath
of this angry jinn
unbottled in my hand.
my belly swells from his caress,
reddening, ripening,
until I give birth to my organs
and blood leaks from the hollows of my bones.
my parched frame bows down,
nerves singing praises to his exquisite pain--
for I had wearied of this war:
my senses blunted by the scars
of daily woundings,
I lay cupped in the earth
and could not feel the pulse in my own veins.
ls-1983
Originally published in Eyeprayers, 1983