joann balingit

Raviolis and the Air Bubbles that Love Them

Each pocket of cheese

Settling then slowly rising

With the heat

And air bubbles

Racing and winning

And if not dying

When they hit their zenith

To escape they are

Driven down to the

Depths of steel and pasta

To start over again

Like a log in a river

Or a coffin sailing out to sea

I Feel Myself in Words

I feel my womanhood in flowing grace

Like I am… “with”… and you are… “in”

And we belong together perfectly, and peacefully,

Like… “eye”… and… “lash”

In the mirror sometimes I see my curves

Curving through

And I’ll close my eyes and feel

Out sliding slowly down and in smoothly

To slide out again

Like I am… “with”… and my curves are… “child”

I feel my manhood in heavy actions

Like I am… “with”… and you are… “out”

And we belong together perfectly, and painfully,

Like… “earth”… and… “quake”

In the mirror sometimes I see my muscles

Muscling in

And I’ll close my eyes and feel,

Up down in out, up down in out,

Boulders and hills

Like I am… “with”… and my muscles are… “stand”

In my delirium of lines

And colors of fallen paint

I am just trying to find love

Like I am… “with”… and myself is… “drawn”