“observing the nervous twist of your hands” by Elizabeth Kilcoyne

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i knew just knew
you’d love fight club
in the wrong ways.
if you tried to read
over my shoulder
you’d slow the turn
of yellowed pages.

i knew your hand
would still my pen
lips siphon words
at my tongue’s tip
but craved your skin
sticking to mine.

i knew i couldn’t speak
to you in flower-tongues
you couldn’t day-dream
my mind’s technicolor
couldn’t quite fathom
solitude’s precarious tilt
spilling into empty hours
with a siren lure singing.

but i unfolded anyways,
my hips pressed slow
against spread fingers.
an unstudied language
clumsy in your mouth.

-Elizabeth Kilcoyne

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