for Brian

      In that moment, I was your torn
      green t-shirt. I was your pulsing temple,
      the scar near your lower lip, the wet
      smell of your body.

      You were behind my eyelids,
      watching everything –
      the girlish fingers twisting
                a choreographed modesty
      in my lap, my bent knees shaking,
      scattering nerves all over the carpet.

      You had no words for me, again.

      I climbed into the hollowed
      hull of your bones
      and sat still,
      listening to the touching of our mouths.

Jessica Dawson is a modern-day Wendy. She lives in California with Peter Pan, a baby bear and a future supreme court justice. Influenced by Richard Brautigan, William Carlos Williams, Rumi, and a desire to never be try to be Sylvia Plath, Jessica Dawson’s writing is a lyrical confessional. She abhors self-promotion but requires an audience at all times. She reads the dictionary for fun, speaks only in degrees of sarcasm and enjoys owning her children in Scrabble. Her first book of poetry, Fossil Fuels, is e-published by Words Dance Publishing.