Women Woman

 

Woven woman with handspun hurt and cottonmouth.

A body more like mountains than pastoral plains

with stretch mark streams flowing from the peak all the way down.

She dives into the cosmos when things get hard or

the thought of having thoughts becomes too much.

Sweet like the only kind of wine she can stomach.

Touch deprived with a taste for settling.

Stumbles around her dimly lit hallway with

pink moscato hands and gorilla glue eyes

questioning if wanting all

of the love languages all at once is allowed

and if getting older will feel more like wisdom than decay.