Eighth Natural Won
Olivia Anderson
I want to lay you open,
like the pages of an
anatomy book. I want to peel
your skin back and study
the composition of your muscles,
watch them flex and concede. I want
to count your rib bones &
play them like a piano,
my fingertips dancing in time with
your breath. I want to press my ear
against the slick grooves of your heart & feel
its reverberation inside my body,
remind myself what awe feels like.
The medical diagrams within the book,
though anatomically perfect, do not do you justice,
sweetheart. They know nothing of the poetry
of your breath, the sweetness of your smile.
They cannot capture the way you trigger
some kind of calland-response
in me, that is greater
than the sum of my parts.