Ode to Bossy Bottoms

Marvel, popped up
like tulips in snow.
Urgent bell
in a boxing ring,
sharp as the lip
of a rocks glass. Music
box of baubles
that bites us back.
Lit, uncracked
coil, tin pan
batter boiling over.
Hello, sour cherry center
-fold. Good night,
miracle text, book
shut around my finger,
filled with the pressings
and beautiful names
of all the things
that belong to you.