You were an island of stretched-out skin.
A shock of flesh bath water could not cover.
I was thinking about earthquakes and volcanoes.
The plate tectonics of your sharp heels
kicking tremors in the dome of her womb.
And the lava is blood,
a red river,
that hisses and bites at the sea.
A birth. My son.
This continent’s new piece of earth.
[Originally published on A Motley Vision]