Inside my stomach,
my nerves knit sweaters
for my anxiety to wear
and the lumps in my throat
are playing leapfrog
Hands braced around a bottle,
I face the green of your stare.
I’m already a salt shaker of desire for you.
My lips define chaos when you look at me
and there is lightning in your palms
every time you touch me.
There is nothing but a second spun between us,
but, already, you set the world on edge.
© Keighley Perkins