Hip(s) - April 12th

Hips Like Cinderella

The Pixies didn't really like hips,
or so it sounds; they'd probably be a fan

of me, hipless, an obelisk. But
I don't always agree with music I

sing along with. My hips were beautiful
in her underwear. Her hips were full

in my hands, a part of her I always held
tighter when she gripped my waist

bones like a pepper grinder; twisted
in sheets like separating liquids. I knew

the curvature

of your back, your neck, your lips
when you screamed Pixie songs.

Could I still find the way around
our hips, now air

has no lyrics? I've got my hands

on the one hand but I don't know
where to put them.

— — —

Gaze Away

I was that guy who felt
responsible for showing you
how beautiful your hips are.

As if you needed my maleness
when your own bones hugged
your midsection, covered you

like an avalanche smothers a mountains'
blemishes. Even now, editing these words,
just ways to impress your hips

with my gaze. Cut out
the previous stanza, Kyle, what would she say?
Make a switch to how you made my hips

feel when you caged them
in your sight longer than I expected
anyone to ever look at me longingly.

My obelisk hips molded in your fingers
like white, wet clay. Did I make you
believe our hips were each branches

from the same snowflake,
bones made of the same calcium
we absorbed from shared glasses

of chocolate milk?  Lips
shared the same calories in kisses.
But what about her hips, Kyle?

What about your hips? I thought
I could freeze an image of you
dancing in high-waisted shorts,

but the hips are the first thing
I forgot the shape of. All things forgotten
are just hips. The hip of your laugh,

your nose hips, the hips in your smile,
the hips in the way you scolded me
for cuddling too early in the morning.

The hip of the road to your room,
the hip of your fingers, your cigarette
breath hips, the hip of your company.

All just beautiful curvatures I can't grasp.
Even your hips will change
in the embrace of a stranger, a gift

I want to return to you, but can't
make your hips any more perfect
than they already are to me.