I watch your hands as you paint me
into your walls and unmentionables.
I seep into them like water,
like apocalyptic dye.
Your hands, smudged so beautifully,
bloodied with acrylics; improbables.
I look at them and I falter,
I'd like to give them a try.
Use all your languages for me
until we are raving Unstoppables,
clinking glasses at an altar;
for we are the best Most High.
I love it when you don't look at me;
instead, keep sketching impossibles.
Don't call me Ishtar's daughter;
go ahead, tear down the sky.
-Georgia Lundeen; from Spare
