Boiling Point

I have second guessed to the boiling point
And woken up-
And never feasted-(on neither food nor glory)
And refused to sleep again-
I failed to mention and
Failed to mention again,
For it almost rocks me in rest;
I fear it will not leave me if rest is eternal

Closed lipped until earth’s edge
Until my faults slip downward in a waterfall;
And you wander from yes and no
And ex to the present;
I can never read you;
I am calligraphy, dear emperor;
I have lied.
Prove it with my scalded tongue

I have forgotten to breathe
Many months before
And it has gone unnoticed—all but you
Three in the dawn means nothing
As I pour tea and wash your feet.
You must know.
Take records as I lie in my chambers

I weave your name into my hair
And aching remnants of days held by sword
As I turn, as I wake, as I lie to you;
What a guilty burden I have become
Picking peaches for your doorstep;
I am the browned apple

You spare grains of rice and beckon me
To stroke your hair and grab you by graceful hips,
Renowned masters of the craft;
I am a slave, useless to you.
But I imagine you adore my shuffling
Of white rabbit feet;
For all the women turn their heads
In a forced bow, hands propped upward
Scorning, angered herons ballet to the death
In your pond of royalty and blue

My sash waves like an endangered fox:
Red, passion, fire,
A pulse in your abdomen
Where I lay by the chilling night
As the other women sleep—
I cannot begin to say,
But upon opportunity, the melted silver drips

Rings on your fingers,
I count them on the flowers on my sash
And I cannot see where they’ve come from
Even as you trade gold for salt
And fur for cattle meat;
I suppose I am made for men
(I serve your soldiers as you wish)
And you for women
(They watch you eat and they are laughing);
Forever on my knees
I cannot stand even for your begs—
You nourish me when their oxen feet are gone

I have boiled and been burned
By the grease of foreign meats;
But you cook it when I cry
As my skin is stinging;
There is no murder weapon,
But it is vanquished and you offer your lips;
They’ll never know—I will be hushed
And I will be the liar, directing the weary
To the awful pits for debtors and rapists

I could speak if you wished
And yet you’ve wished again
Without avail, without me;
You have slept in the doorway
Beyond the devil’s hour
Because screams from outside:
No, not my own (Yes, I do sin. I do deceive)
I have kneeled and brought news on scrolls
As you asked of what crossed my mind
When I was more silent than in daybreak
And I spoke—and mentioned a nightmare
And how I vowed never to sleep.
I never slept without a thought given to you;
But I failed to say when I caught your shadow,
Upon the hour, I rested

I never realized my boiling point was you
Buried into my core