you buried my placenta

You buried
my placenta
next to you
so that every night and day
we could walk together
we could sleep together
we could love together
to drag ourselves
through the detritus of your womb
whirling into suns





My placenta
floats and flies
around you
inside you
lacerating the oceans
with tiny waves of flesh offerings
a rhythm of two bodies
meshing,
swelling,
gasping,
grasping at
the suns of my breasts
where the milky way drips from my nipples

I am wave,
particle
and bread
leavening
caressing
your roots and your mouth
with my tongue
made of gravitational fields
where cosmic farmworkers
trample valleys and plant seed
bursting the oceans of your breasts

You
buried
my placenta
next
to you:
I know
where
I was offered
to calm your body
I know
when
I was buried
to rub myself
into your existence

You
buried
my placenta
next
to
you.

[Seattle-Oakland, circa 1989]