(no subject)
I know that the way your voice cracks in the middle of my name is nothing more than a fluke
I saw a man’s face once
and remembered that
when a body rots
it falls to its knees
and the softest parts drip
littering the ground with purple insects
all searching for the same
but first we’d run in weeds up to thighs
just to smile at thorns
around our ankles
rub mud in the lips of wounds
as we walk home down the river banks
I have a fear of being fragile
and when our skin lies close to sleep
I let him fingertrace
flowers on my left wrist
said its veins look like Clamatis vines
climbing my picket fence
His eyelids swarmed with blow flies
caught between a screen and glass
ripe with the idea
that what you see through
any other window
is never real.
I knew I’d be with him
and the dead think
they know how to blink
but don’t.
I saw a man’s face once
and remembered that
when a body rots
it falls to its knees
and the softest parts drip
littering the ground with purple insects
all searching for the same
but first we’d run in weeds up to thighs
just to smile at thorns
around our ankles
rub mud in the lips of wounds
as we walk home down the river banks
I have a fear of being fragile
and when our skin lies close to sleep
I let him fingertrace
flowers on my left wrist
said its veins look like Clamatis vines
climbing my picket fence
His eyelids swarmed with blow flies
caught between a screen and glass
ripe with the idea
that what you see through
any other window
is never real.
I knew I’d be with him
and the dead think
they know how to blink
but don’t.