Notes found written to...

_Notes found written to Sappho on bar napkins_

like you,
I have always been
tethered on the border
just out of reach:
we often wish
nothing had
happened, regret those
heartbeat tastes
of ambrosia.
You too were always
the last awake.

You and I know
it is good
to learn a second language:
the tongue moves
over new consonants
educates itself
becomes flexible

Do you also
wish for famine, hope
that without perfume
one would not long
for flowers?

We count kisses
on two hands;
the roses,
once a year, in June.

You used to wish
for liquid or cloth
any soft thing
to fold into yourself
to match the shape
of the space, the empty cup
that defines you
like your own open mouth:
You carry it
to the well, carry it
back. Empty. Drink.

She curls close
I cannot breathe
I have been frozen
at twelve, at fifteen.
Who is pure then
who is ready
who is a slim green reed
a tiny drum in the heart?