Sawyer Fell

I do not remember when we were young 
or how large the world once seemed, 
this is one of the things only she knew.

I do not know how to bake 
something from scratch, 
like my mother’s cookies. 
With her instinctual precision 
and her habitual familial ease. 
I did not inherit this side of her.

Somewhere between a flower and a coffin
lies the colorless sunrise outside your windows.
I am devoted and still breathing like the Elin.
You are innocent and still sleeping like the Pothos.

To be a woman is to be a banquet. 

Eclectic, savory, distinguished. 

A summer potluck of femininity; 

a Thanksgiving toast to masculinity; 

an Easter brunch with androgyny. 

I wish I had found the butterfly before I knew how to kiss.
Then, I would have kissed you without a flinch.
I would have slept with you until the day was missed.
I would have stayed out of pleasure instead of lust.

I learned that butchering purity is ungodly,
yet on the silver platter, I see a snow lamb as fired slabs.