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{235 south westgate} sabrina dalla valle I dragged you by the hair through my garden kingdom, made crowns of orange nasturtiums for your hollow head, pulled you into my tree house for noon-time naps. I pressed you against my bony breast, yearning to feed you from my nipple. I kept stroking your eyelids, opening and closing them with my little finger, pining like prayer for something inside. I needed you to talk, at least be like a dog: devoted, unconditional. Your cloth body, how often it became soft flesh, organs, something that needed to be cleaned. I waited for your plastic feet, hands and face to burn in the sun after abandoning you in small grass. I needed a reason to spray Solarcaine. I needed something to save. |
