Armpits
New spice and grass, I can
shut my eyes and take it
in anywhere I go—
warm cloves on black fleece, set
deep into clothes I’ve worn
leaving your house when the
morning came in one gust—
One body. Stripped of mine
draped in yours. Buried my
head into your armpit
and breathed in hard. Sound foul?
Well armpits are secretly
lovely, you know. Where else can
an eager young lady
rest after reading Jane
Austen all day and sleep
like an illiterate
child? A perfect nook
for a fine slender neck—
to cradle the hopes and
deranged goals of a girl.
Biding in this space while
aspiring to be the
woman of her own dreams.
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