Outline (Meghan)

Outline

We’d been kissing in the churchyard, on the bridge,

but our shadows on the park grass just after twilight--

yours a little taller but broader, mine morphing with the movement of my hair,

arms falling in natural extension to resolve in the hand of the other—

gave minds time to photograph the moment so I could write it later

to remind you how you looked to me in silhouette,

the painting of your solid hand immaterial on the lawn, projected

 by lamplight (or tell me, was there a moon?).

I was afraid of you, of course; we looked too well-matched in grass

to falter, but your touch was of a handsome stranger

etching the night into memory in case all failures were former—

in case night stretched into night stretched into night.

I moved away to see the shapes change,

You pulled me close to see them meld.

I don’t remember shadows after that—

Just you whispering in me (or in my ear—do you remember?)

the soft  laughter of nearby terrace diners, perhaps gathering to the spectacle

of alchemy that will be love.

Mouth (Meghan)

Mouth

If tongues were braver than brains,

mine would telegraph the words that boil in the stem

with clicking code on the backs of my teeth,

and you would smile because the sounds

are souls made meat for deglutition.

I’d say the things that let you know I know you,

(that I swallowed you one night while you slept,

and like Jonah, you’ve been living here inside

me, both quiet and content).

But something stops at synapse.

I languish, try to smile.

Let eyebrows and irises perfume the air

with all that’s steaming, this whistling tea kettle

between these ears where you are tucking my hair.

So know that if I could, I’d telescope

my way into your throat, my dragging feet

a delicacy, something savory to say

 I’ve lived in you, too,

since I met you, all along.