Animalic

Yemen, iron and the things that open.

a single drop of blood on my floor
and I don't clean it.

I know what blood yields-
iron, salt, the same mineral
as certain Yemeni soils
I once pressed my mouth against.

the lab is full of things
that want to open.
civet paste warming on the wrist.
boronia absolute- undone gardenia
going animalic at the edges.
I understand the impulse.

there is a temperature
at which resin surrenders-
I've been that temperature.
I've let hands I shouldn't
distill me slow, low heat,
the way you coax oud
from wounded agarwood-

the tree only makes the perfume
after the violation.

the blood dries. barefoot, I step over it.
some altars you build where kneeling is the taboo.

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written for a Substack poetry challenge - thank you, voidlight  alchemy for the tag. leaving it here so it doesn’t disappear.

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