Frances Sharples

blue variety

you are body of three men a night    of finite anticipation    you are body of two women before me    you explain medically       you are body of knowing my mother’s name         and the parts of me that have not been fed     you are perfect in timing

of coursing and courting and arching and breath    of secretion down my throat    of smoking before we meet    of polite asking of relapse    of namelessness    of telling me the blues
and browns of my hanging closet which is not as big as yours          which does not smell like stale cigarette smoke    and i ask you to sleep over    as though i know your last name

and you call me to ask about the story of mine     and the art prints you collected today

i am body thoroughly practiced in loving in distance        i am body thoroughly practiced in empty calling and the hardness    of wait and lack of weight        i am wanting in every word you say        i am wanting in your touch of whatever variety    i am body getting in the car that might be yours    i am cutting my hair first thing

in the morning in crunched sandy light    in light you forget

i am body shedding on the tile   i am body offering you toothpaste   and the light offers you blue    and brown    and you dye every inch of your image    i am teaching you word games

and you are teaching me patience    and you are body matching your palm to my face and they are a perfect fit     your fingers in my mouth    and i tell you you can make me say anything        and you don’t        and really you are not much bigger than me but you hold   my body exclusively        in the crook of your neck                and i taste sweat            trace a chest tattoo      and you leave in the morning and i go back to bed

breathe into my hands        one on my belly, one on my chest    i am body childish    you are body of six days my elder    i am body of rebuttal        and i have never written fourteen pages of poetry about you    you are body of reason and recycled paper         rhythm

you are body of mesh and reformation          i am body in the crook of your neck

Frances Sharples is an English (literature) major in their last year at Geneseo. Frances is the editor-in-chief of The Lamron and Iris Magazine. They write a lot and talk even more. They also cry a lot at Marcel the Shell with Shoes On and love all of their friends.