"someone you love can be so damaged!"
the human body is not sacred as we believe it to be. everything is a house for a soul! but flesh is warm and blood flows so we treat it as if it lives. it does not live. love, reason, sorrow live.
flesh is not sacred so much that it is protected, but it is not sinful and it is not a cage. we cremate the body - prepare it, manicure it, embalm it. the cynic says we do these things for the living, but it's not true.
we care about the dead because we can tell they are living somewhere outside themselves.
it's like making the bed, steaming the curtains of a room inhabited by some lover on an indefinite voyage.

blood will creep into the soft, cream cotton seams of my pinafore and it will never ever leave.
will they torture me first?
I don't think so.
does a killer hate or love their victim? is it the same?

you are the white water that softens our skin
or the thick fire that clears the prairie,
always revealing life.

my eyes are getting old
i've noticed
and memory too.
i never used to turn on the light when i sat down to play
i don't even need to watch my fingers,
i just need clarity, and an embrace
something to pull my wrist so i can leave it all behind.

warm flannel like fire
icy gaze to ease hot touch
i melt in your hand

soft campfire mouth
have you been waiting for me?
trying to stretch time

hold my waist, eager
but not hasty. seconds pass
just like molasses