Peek-hole

I'd like to dive to pierce

deeper than fright,

to write

with the red tongue of love and truth

while I’m still young,

on endless sheets of white,

fierce comet,

illuminating night.

Wanton, I want to plummet in:

head-strong, head-long, head first, heady rush,

up-ended, greedy, thirsty, needy:

into the primal lake of blood,

virgin into Origin,

to swim (mysterious mood)

obsession’s obsidian pools

among cleft mountain thighs,

unlock a door behind a waterfall,

to drink surprise,

to explore

the inner secrets of the wise:

non-violent blood,

to bless with praise

my femaleness,

my bloody mess.

But beauty’s mask repels me,

mirror hell that wounds my eyes:

sharp

surface

brittle

cutting

looking glass:

good-looking

lies.

© Tamara Rasmussen 2018