IF I EVER MISTAKE YOU FOR A POEM
No body was ever composed
from words, not the hipsway
of verse, the iambic beat of a heart.
Yet inside you, a sestina
of arteries, the villanelle of villi,
sonnets between your shoulder blades.
If I were more obsessive I'd follow
the alliteration of age spots across
your arms. But I have exchanged
my microscope for a stethoscope
as I want to listen inside you, past
your repetition, your free verse of skin.
How easy it is to fall for your internal
organs. Your arrhythmia is charming
hidden in the ballad of body,
your gurgling stanzas, your lyric sigh.
Kelly Russell Agodon