One day, I woke to find you lodged in my chest.
You had peeled back the skin in surgical fashion, then driven in
like a stake, flush with the sternum.
What am I to do with a man between my lungs?

I clean the wound as best I can and wait for your next move.

I read ahead to the end of our story. Told it to you. We laughed, then and wept later, in private:

We change with the seasons, our bones softening to allow for the other’s. In Spring, I leave you with a crown of daisies. You leave me with a kiss.

Delicate now, I lay my bones out one by one. The first is found to contain a colony of bees. Another is home to a sparrow which comes and goes through a hole pecked 1.5 inches in diameter. A third has fully succumbed to dust and is held in a cloud-shaped jar which fluctuates in ways of shape, as is the habit of cloud-like entities.

When time has come to dissect my skull, I call out one last entreaty of the physical world: a dinner invitation. Serving out a platter of ****** features, I cease to exist.

I want to go back to my roots,
to playgrounds and sunsets, soft grasses.
To silky skin, where winds blew
pink and unfamiliar. To before.

i look for you on city sidewalks, fourth floors, and various astral planes - you
aren't one to make yourself known but
leave clues like
                               1.    leaves in the autumn wind
                               2.    period novels
                               3.    the occasional lottery number

(I mean it this time)

We could
fly to the moon or

have kids.

Brackish thing,
with waves for eyes,
winks steely blue under
moonlight, manlight.