FUNAMBULISM ❋ Chanelle A Bergeron

please forgive me

while i dip

you in butter

soften your fur

to the degree of

the moon pouting

sodden with rain

 

my scales are catching

flecks of river water

in their crevices

which is how i know it

will snow soon

 

& which is how i know

that the river

will become crusted

in chantilly, torchon, binche

the tatting

of expert fingers

the glaze

of winter-breath

freezing everything over

 

& you are

a swan feather

& you are

a lathe

& you are

a tightrope walker

 

feet flattened to the rope

your arms folded,

grabbing onto the clavicles

a fountain gushing

spraying you from below

 

the moss is ours

our meeting place

(it always has been)

& the sunlight

is what remains

& the rain

 

which settles on

our eyelashes,

the reason we came here

to begin with

 

please forgive me

while i dip

you in butter

silently & veiled

in the fog-dust

tugging at our elbows

turning us to ribbon

with nothing but sky

for miles beneath it