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Inanna
May 13, 2008
Dearest courage, grain in the wind,
I feel you in my hands like liquor:
I feel the gentle pulsing of your breeze
wrapping me into braided straw.
The first gate is always the hardest,
my love, but we will enter knotted
under each arch: devotion unmatched,
divine in everything but flesh.
I would lose all my masks
to find the one that fits;
I will tear out every stitch
to find you in my skin.
This will certify that the above work is completely original.
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