--- T A H N E E R   O K S M A N

One day
the border has to break
a subtle change--
the rip of a petal
colliding with our roots
torn out.

Our blubbering mouths
quivering with the words
we shape
then confuse into memories
scenes that first appeared
on a movie screen.

But wrapping fingers in chords
of fish rope,
a constant reminder,
the language of fists
hiding magic
between tight fingers

real memories linger,
breathing song breaths
while we sleep dreaming
of mouths purple and wide
creases decorating lips
aged with the pleasure of our youths.

The border crumbles
into one thousand perplexed grins
the hum of an apartment
abandoned long ago

the enslavement of nicknames
and the names we named ourselves
framed, surrounding
bookshelves with frizzy smiles
minutes gone by
or missed altogether.

And when that brooding shadow
develops eyes and a shape
colors the room black
makes to touch you

we scramble, we hide
beside the kitchen sink
rubber gloves on our hands
the same clock ticking
outlining numbers as they wash
down the sink
with the dirty dishwater.