Underground
I.
She sprang from beneath the soil
smudges of winter on her
face still delicate not hardened
sprouting lilacs
her mouth was pure nectar she
smiled up at me I asked my god
don’t you need to breathe
she said let’s give meaning to this
February snow
she dragged me under
II.
Flecks of minerals all over
under my fingernails dinosaur bones
preserved in milky glory
an earthworm coiled around a clod
of dirt it yawned when
we passed
she whispered this is where
old trees grow from there’s water
pumping through the roots
I said my thumbs weren’t green
she lifted them to her
nectar lips kissed them and
everything trembled biblically
soil-showered we could smell
crisp oxygen I would’ve followed her
to the earth’s core
III.
To our left was a garden
snake it shrugged its shoulders
it shed its skin for us
so fibrous and lithe
I fell in love with its bent tendons
I let it lick my nose
forked tongue cartilage and creation
peppermint breath
you don’t need legs where
you’re going it lisped
IV.
Down a ways was a bed
of moss glazed with
permafrost
she dangled her secrets there
when they slipped through her fingers
she buried them all
V.
Clouded with earth I was
suffocating she coddled my lungs
but I needed the sun
she told me alright but she
had seeds to sow so to speak
I left her tunneling
in tatters
found the sky through a hole
swallowed a star
on the way up
broken-legged shivering
I craved her honey
I slept through a season
