Tin Cup




Let me curl in the shadow of your scapula.

Let me nestle along the trestle of your spine.


Let me burrow in the marrow of your collarbone.

Let me hide under the eve of your jaw line.


And when you laugh

Let me camp in the thatch of your oyster

And let me leak into the open spaces that you keep

Between the vertebrae.


And when you cry


Let me drink the tears from the hollow of your clavicle

And rattle the tin cup of my longing

Along the bars of your ribcage. 





Portland, Fall, 2010

Also appears in Psychic Meatloaf Poetry Journal.


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