remnant 12: “my fingers touch your blood,” Frida Kahlo

I woke with the opening lines to a poem and then an image, but couldn’t really piece it all together in terms of what I was exploring until I coincidentally came across a post at Brain Pickings on Frida Kahlo’s letters to her lover, Diego Rivera:

Diego:

Nothing compares to your hands, nothing like the green-gold of your eyes. My body is filled with you for days and days. you are the mirror of the night. the violent flash of lightning. the dampness of the earth. The hollow of your armpits is my shelter. my fingers touch your blood. All my joy is to feel life spring from your flower-fountain that mine keeps to fill all the paths of my nerves which are yours.

—–

My new poem (revised):

“impressions (hints of you)” (click below for larger image)