Rae Weaver

Listen

If coherent, my voice gapes—
a tattered cry for your breath
dipping behind my ear

that impatience you bring
on fingertips and ink
on the sails of my hips as they unfurl.

Above all, night gathering
in your gaze and the starlit stream
bridging yes and silence.

Were You Here, Darling

I would circle and curl

into you like a fawn, bones dappled
points against your thicket.

Belly to spine feel you
tuck into a nook more intimate
when we knot legs and soften,
spreading like touch-me-nots.

Neon Nude and Purple Contortion