The Kisser

As in, in the, of course. The body knew
the drill by now. Was are we there yet and then
never been so, then so long. Heart tied
with twine, with shorthairs, trip wires—whispered that bind.
Drew the short straw, scared herself apart
to spit-sweet shards and into time that counted
backwards from two lips ago. Said done
is done and is between me and those teeth.
Some little story about dignity.
We’re there yet. Said trussed me. Body the white flag,
body the pulley. Hoist up and sang to beat
the heart back down again—stick-stone, stick-stone.

More Poems by Dora Malech