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Siren Song

if I were piano keys I would lie black
and white
and still.
breathe I would not 'til you had lain one precious hand
on the spine of the Curve of my lip and pushed -
setting off deep vibrations resonating
and strumming
and humming
and floating on air waves too thin to see or feel as they crest
and crash on the shores of the delicate shell slip of your ear.

if I were a cello I would stand upright
gracefully arched neck
sleek back
and full belly round with pregnant
pause and expectation, strings
taunt tauntingly close to air vibrating with the scent of your
sworl textured fingertips -
achingly ripe to be sung closed eyes and husky by your bow.

if I were me (this body of flesh
and blood
and bone
and tendon)

yes if it were me that was me I would twirl my hair and
poke my tongue out at darkened corners too afraid to
meet any eye -
yours or mine -
and standing pidgeon-toed with a lollipop in my schoolgirl mouth
I would dream of kissing you with
a woman's passion
a courtesan's practice
a baby's sweetness

'til, half mad with the drunken essence of a slaughtered idea,
I would run down the corridors of fantasy
bleeding torpid green sap, taking root slowly and nakedly in the bed
of your smile
and whisper in a last barkless bite
i love you.

Veronica Susan Zito

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