Fall Perpetual, Partial Cloud

 This is the day, I think.
 The day that wants more 
 than a worthy pillow.  
 An inflexible physical dilemma
 where there is no virtual home tour.
 Come to this house and be obsessed.
  
 Twisting, turning, cleaning out, 
 I trip.  An arrow pursues my thigh.
 I am bound.  This wound breathes
 through silken guilt.
  
 Wishing that answers happen,
 this season becomes meat-free
 with time to complain about laundry,
 disjointed eating, thicker-than-usual soup.
 Speaking everkindly to the night, 
 thinking blanks, I blink through yestereven,
 yestermorn. I’m so in love that I want to die
 and be spit back into Earth as distorted starlit drips.
  
 There was always water.
 Do you remember its taste
 as you float?  Hesitate on this puzzle:
 imagine my breasts as daisies, and you,
 piercing them with a hummingbird’s precision.
 The dream is realized when the bees begin to nest
 inside my chest.
  
 This is evening now, I know.
 I am bruised while weather gives up
 its threats.  Well, I said,
  
 this is what it’s all about.  The conflict
 of the inner skin—where my deft flesh
 meets the hunting season.  This pageant
 is always the same when you mistake
 battle for battle.  There is that catch
 in my neck again—a blood red muzzl