(i)
A hand falls on me
stretched out,
soft, soft
on my wood-thick skin,
its finger nails
the ashy spray
of a creeping buckeye
rubbing its wings
on my rolling arm
swung through wind
like a flying moth
from a mouth-ballooned
bubble gum
creeping with a stroking breeze,
as I toss off wings,
taking an arachnid
for a nib-beaked bird
trotting on me, a log of wood,
as it writes out
a song of love
drilled deep as a hole
into my shoulder
with a pecked script.
(ii)
Is flowery Nayah,
the tree bower girl
in a ponytail
writing out a message
with a thorn-pointed
woodpecker's beak?
Do her fingers fly
through a sheet,
with digging flames
from her core
drifting and gliding
and burning
through her nails
with a smolder
from her eyes hearth?
(iii)
She punches out
wood dust
on paper swelling
with wood skin.
And sprays a page
with a volcano's smoke
spread out
in blotches
of sand-grained ink.
Creeping to splay
the desert left
of our love
split into dark sand grains,
when I hear and grab
only dots and dashes
of a morse code
from a storm's whistle
in puffs of wind.
O I miss a lover's whisper
blowing ash
from a bouncing fire
deep in a peek's volcano.
But her message
is written in squiggles -
with foot prints
of a croaking fleeing toad
from a dry pot of ink.
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