by t. zoEy benally

turn around & let me write poetry on your back
why wait for smooth level surfaces
when your shoulder blade planes do nicely
i promise, i won't dribble ink on your solar ray baked skin
your going provides ample space
for my words to roam & shift around
one or two might wander around side
try to hide in elbow corners
nibble on tender grass fingers
that continue to tickle stoic rock cheeks