• Vol. 05
  • Chapter 07
Image by

Cleansing Ritual

I saw a concave knitting
beneath your twinkling eye
splash of talks and splash of memories,
Mother, rub my sins
hard as death
bright as sunflower-toasts
rub my thighs,
rub my thoughts
fastening my back,
erecting my mind.
In the eye of mundane truths
and lives of insect-bites
plaster this eggshell body
with bubble and foam
a star kissing another star.
Your eyes soft
as my belly-button
with hands of vertical
stripes and patterns
like a lullaby,
I often see your face
in my dreams, Mother,
countless motions of twists.
I die each night
to feel this salty-love –
a paroxysm of your body.