Why must you yank,
gravity, you pull me like an impatient child-
waring at my skin and breasts
until I sag
you call to me-like a wench
hands lifting up from a grave
causing ripples and cracks
where smiles once rested
feet crawling from eyes where tears
ran like rivers claiming valleys.
Tell me earth? Why do you crease me
where i once curved

I'm forgetting again
that my eyes can only see as far
as the horizon permits
I was born from you, wench
like clay from my hands
and your time calls me not down-but back
like a mother calling to a child in a field at dusk.
you, in perpetual embrace-"come baby
your bones must be tired now, I know better"
my skin crawls to you
a devious child on a long, late car ride home
loose laces and sticky palms
lulled by bumps and rumbles
-and gentle voices
in you
destination trusted
with you
reversing my roam