promises

weave a story
with your strong hands
in my wild hair

tell me something
untrue
and unbuttoning--
drenched with wanting,
elongated

i've mostly sworn myself off promising,
but i promise
i'll stay open to
considering your sweet nothings

not that you're a liar,
just that words
are as impossible
as love
and i speak more in the language of
labor and hands:
grabbing hold
clenching skin
punching in
time after time after time--

muscles so controlled
they learn
how to stitch
and stay--
or at least
make falling away
look graceful



***



i'm hungry, now
with no energy to spare deliberating

i will feed myself
until i become round and full of promise
big enough
to keep