A Life That Curls
Today it occurs to me
I could be allured by a man
in a yurt. His rug--
circular, red, cerulean.
No straight lines,
no linear conversations.
I would brazenly flirt with him.
Round nights, soft walls. Our words
curve time, curtain no secrets.
Let me burn down
my old corners under the perfect
swirling skirt of the night sky.