all that is wild

Give me imperfection—
the distance between hips,
the grief of your body,
the way want uncoils
like spring, endlessly
green, always reaching.

Hold your tongue
unless
it is put to good use.

Unfold this map
with greedy fingers,
then, get lost.

Recite a spell
written on skin,
but use no words.

Give me
a prayer-song
that no church would allow,
the catch of teeth on a promise,
all that is wild
and bone, a fogged window,
the greed of a too-full heart,
the click of a belt
unbuckling—
beg the stars
from my bones
and I will give you
the night.