Washed out in a turquoise sweater,
Hypnotic crisscross patterns on my sleeves,
This bluish color makes you fantasize about
Atlantic waters and blue jays
Flailing above abandoned rafts,
Wings weaving, knifelike, slicing
Thin wisps of southern clouds.

Can you decipher my body language
In a turquoise sweater?
The translation of each gesture,
Does it sound foreign like Mandarin or Sanskrit,
Each essential action,
The fold of my arms, the bend of my posture,
Does it vibrate from afar like a whisper, a shhhhh?
You don’t know the answer and
I insist that you to unravel me,
Unravel me in my sweater.

A pool of small waves, easy breaths
Whirl blue-green between us.
I pose like a mannequin and you pull apart
Symmetric loops of silk yarn, undo rows of stitches.
Mindful, urgent, unknotting kinks at the hemline,
Your fingers work fast as if this hour has
A deadline, job well done, seams shredding
At my elbows, an exposed shoulder.
A mesh of turquoise strings, thread,
Metallic buttons on the floor.

A reflection in your eyes at last,
My torso bare, ribs bare,
No turquoise sweater, no Atlantic waters,
No blue jays to sidetrack, to hide behind.
Mystery unravels and your gaze
Strips me naked, vulnerable.
My mouth unzips for a final inquiry
And you interject a whisper, a shhhhh
As I give myself permission
To come undone.

 

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