…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…
