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RAE
WEAVER
All
Photography
©2004
SIEANNEN
BELL
To
Write
of
the
Body
Should
I
claim
bodies
are
burning
tinder,
trees
to
climb
or
seas
sailed
as
if
bones
wooden,
we
did
not
rise
from
this
act
whole
as
birth
at
no
time
do
skin,
organs
and
muscles
remember
they
are
of
the
same
stuff
quite
so
much
as
in
time's
hitch
beyond
orgasm
perhaps
only
after
a
day's
hard
labor
when
rest
is
intimate
as
a
palm,
and
lovers
flung
open
by
that
emergence,
sleep
Ancient
Statecraft
t-shirt
sheet
giggles
under
the
big
tent
light
skinnies
inside
cracks
wide
as
she
turns
head
to
hips
left
wing
lobs
plum
struck
linens,
sibilants
oh
god
dark
again,
a
smooth
end
dip.
nipples
tip
in.
limbs
rustle
and
maybe
this
is
no
forest,
the
moon
rising
how
trite
but
inside
the
beltway
of
a
lost
atlantis.
above
barely
visible
a
nautilus,
doubled
curved.
her
mouth
swimming,
just
swimming
into
silver
bright
bursts
like
live
coral
fronds,
filibustered.
tongues
she
shell
air
moistening
its
lips
against
all
points
made
terse
hers
and
hers
nose
to
chin
engrossed
fingers
sunk
three
knuckle-deep
thumb
to
clit
or
press
another
starfish.
thumb
—
lobbyist
for
somewhere
else
quaking.
All
Unravel
Conjunctions
shoulder
blade
dunes
I
hike
where
sometimes
best
are
lips
sealed
-
scent
of
myself
on
your
tongue
in
the
small
basin
above
your
mouth
citruspennyginger
'tween
yesterday's
shave
heels
weight
you
we
rollick
and
skirt
the
fist
un
clenching
the
fingers
in
the
pond
my
palm
you,
an
oar
paddling
every
where
skinshallows
nothing
so
sure
as
you
this
bed
this
where
all
unravel
conjunctions
towed
brow
to
brow
gaze
to
gaze
a
certain
point
past
purity
where
breath
drunken
drawn
out
to
that
island
closer
and
farther
from
where
we
began
we
awaken
where
light
tides
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