we were born a bull

fell into blood with our bed

you see, some things, they are sacred

our crimson

we knew it by nickname

burgundy wine

we knew it by touch


I knew it then but I know it better now

we hid from it, behind grandmothers and fake names

but there is no hiding people on fire

I walked right through a mountain, see

tried to tell you not everything is poison

but you had me in the shape of a 

vixen, laying & lying, basking & crying, “ I am

your moonballoon, your canary, your purple orchid,

the silly self-important enchantress!”

and you missed the soft true shape I actually was 

before I fit into 

and back before you were bloodshot from it

you said my milky figure was foolproof

( immediately untrue 

we charged each other, horns down, arms out

opened ruby mouths all over our bodies; huge petite wounds, now scarlettes )

see we were born a bull

naked in red lace, intricate laceration

writhing with yearn like I love,

never closed, baring all the reddest parts of myself

we were so alive, we were dying

I knew it then, but I know it better now,

some things, they are sacred,

and even now in my black and white blood-let

with reasons in a box under a dryer wiser bed,

I throb

knowing what paws the ground out there