I was a baby who’s sparkling spit
leaked out of little lips that lead to a throat filled with:
poems and organs.
Little lungs that breathed
I got older and my heart exploded
from all the pretty things I saw when your eyelids would lift:
grass and diamonds,
tongues tracing body seams,
I want to keep your soft mouth so wet.
With help from heavy rocks that I place inside my dress,
I will sink beneath the waves in your chest.
I will get to the start
of your heart.