i am alone in my cells
a scientist’s contortionist
of morals and miracles, and i am
sweating out the November
until he writes of my tongue. .
a pale pink cotton veil
that invents languages
just for him, as mad
as in sane circles he licks
the moon, and i am
a blind girl upon dreams and earths clasped
around my neck, the whole weight of him, inside my stomach
a moth eaten out
and the black mirror spies
a tendriled Pandora; he has opened
and i am
needing him as a Frankenstein
under my skin
to begin
to be
born. …
Comments on to begin to be born [sexcells]