My mouth blooms like a cut. <br />I've been wronged all year, tedious <br />nights, nothing but rough elbows in them <br />and delicate boxes of Kleenex calling crybaby <br />crybaby, you fool! <br /> <br />Before today my body was useless. <br />Now it's tearing at its square corners. <br />It's tearing old Mary's garments off, knot by knot <br />and see - Now it's shot full of these electric bolts. <br />Zing! A resurrection! <br /> <br />Once it was a boat, quite wooden <br />and with no business, no salt water under it <br />and in need of some paint. It was no more <br />than a group of boards. But you hoisted her, rigged her. <br />She's been elected. <br /> <br />My nerves are turned on. I hear them like <br />musical instruments. Where there was silence <br />the drums, the strings are incurably playing. You did this. <br />Pure genius at work. Darling, the composer has stepped <br />into fire.<br /><br />Anne Sexton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-kiss-8/
