How to Paint at Midnight
in the Chest and Torso
When my internal organs conjure you,
They call the lake of lakes to be the greens
You caused, and seas of oceans for the blue
My memories use to paint rib walls with scenes.
And these are just the bordering waters spaced
About the continents of warmer tints,
Land masses larger than the desert waste
And mountained mountains made of now lost hints.
My guts and heart require more than a globe.
They want to sing the globe and all its air,
Its furied storms and every mistraled robe
That you have set inside me with your hair.
Your hair is all I have. The rest is gone
To atmospheric death forbidding dawn.