C. J. Miles — The Anatomy of Bae

I write hips on your lips
Then kiss your hips which are still called hips
Because you can never have enough of those.
If you plant a hip will it grow a tree?
Take grandma down to the hip tree.
Stock up, those stairs get slippery
In the wintertime. Legs are still
Legs but your toes are now sticky
Notes. I follow them down to the river
Where you are bathing children
I have never seen. You kiss me like
A thunderstorm. Like a volcano
That has the hiccups, which is to say
I love you, too.
You’ve named the children Tender Nuggets.
You promise me I’ll love them.
I promise you I’ll never want to stop
Thinking in plurals ever again.


C.J. Miles lives in Iowa with his wife. His poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Forage, Beech Street Review, Eunoia Review, Clear Poetry, and Jazz Cigarette, among others. Follow him on Twitter at @cjmilespoet.