Silueta of Crushed Lipstick and Mum Petals

By Carolina Ebeid

I heard you in the garden

& I was afraid I was naked so I hid.

 

I was naked because  I was afraid

—I said to myself.

 

Vox gone hidden in the imbecile garden.

In the traffic I hid me.

 

Fear smells mineral, petroleum, sumac, rain-lustered.

I drink the drams from its awe-silver limbs.

 

I heard your voice purpling like bellies of Peruvian

blues at various depths in soil. Away-from.

 

Artificial lights, they leave the leafy

night looking icy in unfinished colors.

 

I heard you say magenta:

three syllables swarming out the voice box.

 

Swarm brings back no mauvish/cyan/crimson

to your sightline but some tv snow.

 

A needle dragging skin-dust long the vinyl

grooves. Music acquires you in iotas.

 

As static I heard you whirling around the vinyl-

dark round & round—

 

Adrenaline alters the hide, hair.

I was afraid of the paradise in my ear.

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