you always had a big heart
and weak, tiny guts.
someone could rip out your hair--
"stop it!"
pull away
they won't stop

your big heart made you stay,
your tiny gut conjuring no more than guilt
and dull eyes when he says he loves you

five foot two,
small enough to feel powerless
big enough to feel like you could do more,
more than lie there on your back.
but you've got tiny, tiny guts
and your heart had wilted

you left but he's not gone.
he's lingering where your body sees no sun
and in your throat when you feel you're choking.
he touched everything.
he touched every part of your life

      why are you so afraid
      when you've got such a big, strong heart?

      why are you so cold with that blanket wrapped around you?
      why can't you sleep when you're exhausted?
      why can't you eat when you're hungry?
      why can't you cry when you're sad?

now it's a new day in a new city
in a new home with a new love.
      why can't you go outside?
      why can't she touch you?
      why do you have nightmares
      when you've smiled all day?

you're a work in progress!
let her hold you,
and let your big heart pump blood
to your tiny, tiny guts

your name hits me at night
like a slap to the face,
the six letters of your name
sitting like lead on the part of my chest
where you used to sleep,
even when you weren't near.
i don't dream of you anymore;
maybe my mind is done with you
eating away at it like a parasite,
killing it from the inside.

i don't know your name
but i can already hear myself whispering it
when you wrap yourself around me

i'll wait for your hands
which will read my skin like braille,
saying "touch me,
hold me like you'd hold the full moon,
with sunshine on it,
glowing for you."

then you'll read my body like a map,
you'll see the sensations
running through my chest
to my limbs:
"kiss here,
stroke here,
wrap your arms tightly here."
my body will say this to you
in a language i know you speak.

i'll breathe deeply with you
because i want to share the air--
can you believe our lungs
surround the same world?

then i'll kiss you
on your x-marks-the-spot,
and you'll whisper with every exhale,
"never stop.
you know who i am."
then we will fall asleep
because we are home.

i hate when i can feel
my pulse in my fingertips,
like my blood is trying to escape
but can't flee from the reality of my skin
     (which is only a trick to make us believe
      we're whole in ways we're not,
      solid in ways we cannot translate
      to thoughts and feelings and words
      without making us believe that somehow
      the curve of a body is real enough
      to provoke a stare,
      or permit a touch,
      or a whole-hearted feeling of need)
which is a thing that dies in the sun
and tells us it's cold to be alone.
when was the last time
i felt hope in my body?
why can't my blood run to that?

in the dead or night you're the most alive
(like a thick gasp in my throat
which lingers beyond my breaths)
(yet not in my mind
where the other thoughts fight)
you've lasted longer than my hair and my nails,
nearly as long as the cells in my bones.
how do you live past your presence?
(and how can i bottle you up,
keep you in a jar on the top of my shelf
where i can pull you down on a rainy day?)
how do you speak when your tongue is at rest?
how do your stir me when you are asleep?
how do my dreams know to bring me to you
so we can speak in the same air?
how do you live in me?
(how are you here right now?)

i remember when someone kissed my hipbones last:
it was years ago, in the dark.
you don't know now how long it's lasted,
like a disease eating away at the bone
where the sweet warmth of kisses should be.
i miss the way you pulled me to your core,
yet your hands were hooks,
puncturing me
"catching me"
like stealing a fish from the place where it is free,
only to cut its head off,
scale it,
filet it,
until it's easy to eat.
i'm in a bed like a net that has protected me
from falling into a canyon of fear,
drowning in its tumultuous rivers
which beat me against rocks.
when i can sleep again
maybe i'll find someone else to join me,
someone who will let go when their kisses are dry.