(if she comes now)
she will be
not lunar but solar.
Twelve months late
but she will heal
this body’s drought
she will ease
uneasy thoughts
of barrenness,
foretold
by pristine knickers,
odourless.
(If she comes now)
She will be the sun rising blood orange
bleeding light onto the horizon of my thighs.
(If she comes now)
She will blaze through in rubies
and leave claret stains on my lips.
(If she comes now)
she will bloody me with light,
and her solas will be my solace.
I smell her blood renew.
She will come in a gush of cherry
and stencil her oval fertility
over this sun-blissed body.
She will wash me clean in scarlet rivers
and cleanse me by her stains,
her cardinal sun spots.
I feel her come slowly
like lava. Her sunfired beauty
is my bloodshot rejuvenation.
I will wear vermillion
to loudly declare
this shedding of my womb
My body alight with her crimson letters.
