DOMINOES

this is the season of nesting
listless memory recalling the summer peach
that is the back of your neck. a sweet nectar
as you roll on the couch in the sunlight, I am left to
catch whiffs of the perfume-
signs of bruising, already

this is the season of inarguable difference
shadows long on the wall, amid storms swelling I
deconstruct like a maryoshka doll. breaking down
into smaller and smaller versions of myself
becoming a lesser, and lesser woman

this is the time for us now
blanched, poached, bloated, we
form imperceptible knots in the string binding us. left unnoticed
until the need to tug hard,
a hail mary
these minuscule knots tied before,
now ripping at the seams.