sweetie, mornings have never felt more like headaches
pulsating under your olive skin;
with your open mouth
and we don’t even recognize your bones anymore.
your twisted wrist, press against that hallow chest-
the perfect incline to an obedient pose.
“shadows”, the camera man blames.
for stretching your skin over that pseudo-structure.
protruding collarbones hovering above that plain
white t-shirt.
standing in front of pretty floral wallpaper.