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how can i ink you down
when there’s no word
for “eyes of wildflower and vine?”
for the way our bodies meet
at the hips, trench your fingernails
into the skin of my back
leave red marks like lines of memory,
like yarn tracings of a paranoid corkboard conspiracy,
like faded sunburn pressed white against your palms?
bow your spine, dust my neck
with nebula lips, breath passes
ear like a rumor or
a secret
told by tripping tongue
over shoulder, collarbone,
stomach, hip, thighs
pushing upward, pushing toward
rough kiss until we sweat with it
like old ships, salt-soaked and leaking,
boards bent to bursting against one another
warped by salt-air and time, and crooked like knees
around hips, held together not by nail or screw,
but the shape made at their joining.
Evan Benedict is a high school English teacher at Norfolk Collegiate School in Norfolk, VA. He writes poetry in his spare time, which he has because he neglects other things. His poetry has been displayed by the City of Norfolk, and featured in Flying South, Silver Rose Magazine, SPECTRApoets, Sunspot Literary Journal, and Wild Roof Journal.