To say I hate you, when in fact
This is the place of contracting
Patterns, and my love of you
And your love me
Is a kind of whitespace:
The amalgam of grace
A cobra coiled object
The tooth left for the fairy
Rothko painted with lacerated tongue
Dvorak composed for spoons banging pots
Losing both eyes and my taste for cigarettes
The homebaked object of memory
The silence between the intimacies.
It has taken much
eleanor j jackson 