Paloma

15

my ribcage crib
the sweltering creak of its haunches
as we sway on tired heals
back and forth in the mushroom bloom of night
the spongey moon like a
freshly sprung cap
between shriveled pleats of
gilly sky
when we brush up and down our arms
our lobes of loose skin
and find ourselves budding spores
their flimsy threads rising like lanugo
downy and breathing away from our heat
the mud of our fat
our scattering dance