mechanics by Jennifer L. Collins


As if you’ve been given a how-to guide,
I come apart.
My breath lost to your eyes,
my hands held at my sides by your words,
my control lost in your kiss—
desire takes apart the bits of restraint
that have reminded me in the past
to be myself, apart from others,
and imagines me forward into a love
I’ve been given no map for.

No promises,
no plan,
and my voice is still lost in the air between
your plan and mine, my hope
and your want,
as if me slipping apart in this air
between us is
just another wicked sin,
another play on fate
tricked out
of her bedclothes.

And I come apart
in your hands
as if you’ve seen
to the engineering of my heart—
so that I’m left wondering at the purpose
of your study, be it a caress
and a longing for tomorrow,
or a much simpler

Jennifer L. Collins is a tattooed poet and animal lover who grew up in Virginia and has recently relocated to Cape Coral, FL, where she and her husband have five rescues—one neurotic hound, and four very spoiled cats. Her poetry has been published in various journals, such as The Rockford Review, Chelsea, 34th Parallel, Redivider, The Potomac Review, 13th Moon, and Post Poems; she was nominated for a Pushcart by Puerto Del Sol. Her first chapbook, Oil Slick Dreams, is available for sale from Finishing Line Press.

Image Credit: Abstract Heart Paintings by