They amputated your thighs from my hips

my lips from the crevices of your arm bones
your tongue from inside my left eye socket

they amputated memory

I dreamt we were thirteen hiding in your
mother’s pantry, eating warm molasses cookies

I wiped the milk mustache off your upper lip
reached in for a kiss, you were too startled to stop me

you tasted sweet and moist, as I imagined you would
the kiss was quick—

Erika Lutzner has written one book, While Everything Slipped Away From Me (Calypso Editions) and four chapbooks; three with dancing girl press and one with Kattywompus Press. She has work on the web in places such as Failbetter and Eclectica. She grew up in Garrett Park, MD, next to Porcupine Woods and behind the train tracks. She now resides in Brooklyn, NY. She is a former violinist and chef and loves cats.

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.