I often find that when I am naked,
I lose boundaries.
I don't know where my skin ends
and the world begins.

When I lie in bed, I become part of its cotton comforter and sheets.

When I walk around my house, I become part of the nest:
I am the hearth, the warmth, and settling dust.

When I was with you, I
became part of you.
I was your skin,
you were mine.
I was your Sunday night stubble,
your whispers and breathy chuckles. I was
your short fuse and forced
indifference,
your silence.

When we tried to pull our
boundaries back,
we fought.
We tore uneven
       borders.

I took some of you, you took
some of me.

listen to the one who
has heard the voice of wheat
in ripening cornfields

The reason for our articulation
is simple and utilitarian-
we do not seek perfection,
But we seek an ablution.

Perfection is reserved for those
with time to spend and money to burn.
Our soul require absolute release,
its ransom necessitates recompense:

Expiated expeditiously, in a flurry
of words that scathe our every thought.

I don't like birds in cages,
I can't abide fish in tanks:
But the prison I'm in is the size of my skin
And it fits me just perfectly, thanks!