BRIANNA MORRIS
& still, the desire for more than this simple escaping into word or sound or image. I no longer want to wander— would rather run until I collapse into the palm of your hand. I was born from summer’s shining rib, & since then I’ve had no patience for dullness. let me die with the slow-motion firework of youth still shining in my irises. don’t think twice, just make a promise. wring it out of the air & let me keep it in my pocket for stability, for when the rain falls again. I have taken so many chances & so many seasons have rotted inside me. a futile autumn, preoccupied, static spring with its mosquito-bite silence, a long day of winter chilling me to the bone. & still I sit under trees & wait for fruit to fall into my lap. I tear it open to compare all other sweetness to you.
[ 13 ]
poetry
you came and I was crazy for you
