By Erin Parker
He wakes up tangled in my hair
I wake up tangled in his sheets
Stumble to the kitchen
before the poetry I surface with fades
in the black eyeliner smear of the
weekend morning light.
I am shaping a poem
that will show him the rhythm of me
and things that no one’s ever seen.
He finds me in the spaces between the words.
He keeps me in his hands.
He is putting me together.
I want to find out
what he will make.
The Pieces and Shapes was originally published in Red Fez, Issue# 58