I am his seashell, a souvenir pulled from the sand and placed on the sill. I keep something hidden beneath my brittle skin — it swims like silk in the half moon, it invites the hands of seaweed, it surfaces
Figure Studies: Three Poems After Salvadore Dali: City of Drawers
Honey, your fingers felt for the edge and pried open the drawers of my body — warped, soap-scented oak — to feel the lace of my underwear, to bite the buttons of my skirts. You licked my pearls; you studied
Figure Studies: Three Poems After Salvadore Dali: Specter of Sex Appeal
In the theater lobby, a mannequin with legs like chopsticks stabbing through bikini bottoms throws her head back and chokes a font of popcorn. The pinch of her stomach cooks the kernels! the manager sells to me. His hand sweats