…I’ll always tell

the secrets of my family

I’ll always tell you

everything about everything

on my time

because I move

according to our gravity

we bruise our fingers

for the sake of a story

and make love

for the sake of love/

sullied and ashen

we move through the quiet place

where sleep finds you

and turbulence finds me

 

if it feels dead

it’s because it is

my eyes want to close

as I write this/

the sound of the blazing city helps this,

it is a constant reminder

of the volume of my insecurities/

I remember how full I felt with you

and food became unnecessary

I am cosmically bored–I must always have something to decipher

there are no cemeteries here

only flowers

there are whispers and half-eaten fruit

I’ll bite down on my deficiencies and milk them of nutrients

I’m a keepsake,

soft pillows,

wet grass—your childhood

your deathbed…