i’d like to wrap you in saran wrap and save you for dinner tomorrow night
there are subtle sweaters my mind knits you.
they are purple when you walk
red when you take your shoes off
when i find printed socks i weave them in,
and drip sweet old sesame oil between the hairs and the knit.
there are subtle sweaters my teeth build you,
after i brush them too,
when i don’t speak and it’s mostly in february
what is it about the letters f ‘ruary’
that squeezes in love
through the cushions?
Sara Martin is a woman in a world that is terrified from womanly love. She's the Assistant Editor of Willard and Maple, and studies at Champlain College in the Pro Writing program. She loves orcas, whales, sharks, whale sharks, and peonies. RIP Tillikum, she loves you. You can follow some of her more light poems on Instagram: sara.i.think