October 2008 / Volume 8 / Issue Three
Samantha Arlotta
Brown arms and wide hips

breasts pressed against your chest
with little daylight stretch marks
peeking through the crooks

and the cheap fan shakes
sun from all the rooms

we were children in different states
six years apart
and you climbed trees while I
ran along dirty streets
hearing my name called
from soft mouth alleyways

and other things too
ugly things, both of us
where traffic and unpaid bills
brought bruises and bottles

today I will claw you out from inside me
soak until you dull against my skin
and then take you to me again
over like this

I can tell you mine
until you mistake them for yours
press the same bruises I have into your skin
until you recognize me
until we’re the same

here in the light