How do I get in your atmosphere?
Tell me about your signs, look me planetarily
—those Venuses in your eyes?
There was no thought after you
and I wrote it down. Wandered
to the wailing with my back exposed.
My kind of Sunday, your knees
buffalo and kicking up plains.
We go sockless for beauty.
Ribbons unwind bring us to tied,
I’m at your symmetry, remembering
all your digits and your lucky number nine.
Copyright © 2022 by Arisa White. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on August 25, 2022, by the Academy of American Poets.