Baby's got a macho stance

It does not matter
if I have a raven in my mouth
when the moon howls
for your impossible flesh,
for your dissected blue veins under
your half transparent skin.

Fingerprints die
of forgetfulness in the corners
of my body, dried breasts moan
for the fairies and elfs.
The enchanted night dissolved
under the ragged red curtains.

It's been a year since
your bouquet of words captivated me
with promises woven out of our stupid wounds.
-I wanted you to handcuffed me to your bed,
blindfolding my middle-aged illusions,
I wanted the violence of feeling-
(but...)

It matters not to me your theatrical face
anymore.
You simply can't tame the butterflies in me.

Karla Bardanza
http://karlabardanzapoems.blogspot.com
http://skycladatmidnight.tumblr.com
http://poeticpostcards.blogspot.com

Poem #2
*Written for the Raven's "one a day" through November.