zipporah

i am of the body

of me

whose body isn’t i

when i’m drinking

and drunk

and throwing up

me

only to be replaced

by a scarred and scared

i

with acidic dribble trying to

eat me and my whole

*

She is lips

a big red sea

split from sounds

of her and of me

striking flesh

from which i came

and which i wish

to leave behind

like a butterfly smudging

back to a caterpillar

because flight is depressingly glorified

even when

the ground isn’t fully understood

and under it

there can be more

than the empty sky

filled only with more butterflies

that get into each other’s way

trying to land onto her arms

raised and worshiping

the miracle of two

and of being cast

out of paradise

only find it

inside us

always