Poetry by Kelli Lage
On October 10th
Button up your suit made of midnight scraps
and I’ll drape my dress made of champagne over my shoulders.
Let’s become so ravenous with hunger
that we claw at anniversary grade sheet cake
and lick each other’s fingertips clean.
Let’s break our kitchen sink with thirst,
and grant golden hymns to leak through our blushing lips.
When the wind kisses our necks, let’s curl into it.
Slivers of cradled daylight.
Restored upon the hilltop, where we welded our souls.
made up of you live in the sunlight.
Sometimes I catch them in my palms
but they scatter away like a flame being put to rest.
If I walk too close to the orange glow of the sunset,
it feels like I’m floating in a dream.
Which part of you is real,
which part lies in the golden cusp of the horizon’s palms?
When our woodfire stove slipped its cough through backdoors,
I saw you touch the steam with your fingertip
and turn it to cotton candy pink as haze met dawn.
My pulse tells me dawn always flocked toward you to find direction
so I’ll follow its lead.
Trying to make morning glory
by tracing golden butterflies on your back.
Wind bent grass, a memory on my knees
when I think of their laced wings.
Melted sun swells on the tip of my tongue,
but I swallow too soon
washed away into a vast field
of forgotten poems and names
and haze in place of the color of the shirt
you were wearing the day we first got groceries together.
But that’s okay, because we are getting groceries this afternoon.
And I know I still won’t commit your shirt to memory.
I will be too busy pasting your laugh to my eardrums
and luring your scent to make a home in my nose
and asking your hazel eyes to paint themselves behind my eyelids.
When I close my lashes in the stilling dark fireflies glimmer
and an image of my lover’s bare back is stamped in my mind.