I am at home
between the indentations of teeth marks
on your forearm
fingernails dragged down shoulder blades
“do no harm”
that maxim keeps on waxing
with each phase of us;
it illuminates the cuts I score on you
as if it were to see my scars
you must be made to suffer too.
I am an elk
a basket weaver
I am a keeper
of ritual twisted together between sorrow and ecstasy
I am a weaver of the strange unseen tapestry
Still when I slip between
the warp and weft
and fibres split to cleft
when I submit bereft
You are the rough ropes
that bind me
I am suspended by your limbs
You are the ash tree
The holder of the parts of me
my wrists above my head
my waist above your hips
my body across your bed
my hair in your fingertips
my rage and my ravishing
my truth and my insanity
my power and my tragedy
I want to be your good luck
I want to be your best thing
a sign, a synchronicity
I want you to write your name on me
Keep me in your wallet,
hold me when you sleep
I am a keeper
I want you to keep me.
Sionnachaí 