Pinky

To live inside a colored womb,
a pink astronaut fleshy
and fragile, soon to be expelled
to spaceship earth from inner space
a wet cocoon, a smushed face
and tiny fingers in the picture
and tiny fingers and smushed face
and dad that day in the waiting room
'cause they wouldn't let him in
this soon or maybe he didn't want or was
camping with a friend.
Floating in fixed
space, milk and honey flowing in floating
and floating and then...

And time and world rushing in
and where did my ocean of honey go?

Mother is food and rootedness and self, we end in
eachother and have no end.
In eachother a wealth of love and
warm mommy-juice to float in is self and love
without end.
Mother is Goddess, is Lover, is Friend,
is Spaceship and Space.
Pinky in space in Mother in space in Mother
in space, millions floating and loving,
a race of pink astronauts, another world
close as stretched-tight skin, made of love and wonder,
but we have only cameras
to look in.
What happened to heart-eyes, Mother?
Were they cut with umbilical cord, can we learn
to use them again?
If I say the right words will you let me fly back
to that cocoon,
fleshy, warm and
soon?