anna pinault
anna pinault
anna pinault

072319

Show me where it hurts.

Tell me your aches and pains

Lead me to where the shame pools up

in secret corners and soft folds of your body

To where the bitterness stagnates in your vessel

 

I want to know where you’re raw.

To rest my warm hands where you throb

Steady...

Steady.

 

Let your aching body soften in my arms

Sink deep into the balm of my embrace

Exhale the breath that you’ve been gripping for so long and

Give

Me

Your

Weight

 

Slowly

I’ll press my skin upon your skin

and caress your wounds so gently that 

perhaps 

your timid joy may be coaxed to the surface once again.

 

I will not tell your body what to do

I will bear witness

Will trace the topography of your pain with reverence

Will place my kisses so softly that

perhaps

even just for this moment

occupying your body feels

 

Okay. 

 

Even, just for this moment, you may rest easy.

For this moment, your vessel is no longer a burden.

121818

How do I become gentle. 

with passion and vigor?

How will the light flash off my frame when I am unrelenting and ferocious.

with tenderness.

Is this the clearing beyond a forest I must journey through,

Or a forest I must sink my roots into?

Is it the distinct way the sunlight gleams through the treetops onto me and the dirt?

Or is it the way my body remembers the canopy-shaped shadows when I am once again in the full heat of day. The pattern of warm illumination my skin remembers when I am once again in the full cool of night. 

I want to scream and howl and sweat as I tear away at the dirt. 

With love. 

Ripping it away from its bed and turning it over within itself. Feeling the burn of effort and the salty smell of earth. 

All of this making room for the first breaths of a flower. 

022321

I kneel at your throne of

leather and bone

 

Your grasshopper wings

make prisms on the walls

 

Fingers uncurl, leaves and

dirt in their creases

 

Your breath makes the sound

of the Earth when it’s silent

 

Why is your hair always damp?

 

The throne is so heavy though

it carries your weight.

 

The wind seems to pick at your scabs

 

I wish you could see how beautiful you look

in the rain.