sure this skin is like i don’t even know how to begin / the roads to my arteries all mudpath / all sillyputty / i trafficjam inside myself / name you mountain / and you whisper well come on in / coo flashlights in my blackout / my kneecaps mouthing / yes please i want that / still stuck / still muffled and mumbled in my own snowdrift / my own pinball kind of think / my shaking storm hands / my forest tongue / you tell me protection spell / language me layercake / swear a tiny god / must be in each of your thumbs / you pressing spirals to my ears / they sound of blanket / of acceptance draped on shoulders / so tonight / so tonight in my chest / we push this wagon / this wheeled stovepan full of longing / we kiss it with lips downhill / lose it somewhere in the river / we two jawlines / together / we chew on our wanted winter
—Jamie Mortara, “pressing spirals,” Some Planet
