i think you can dilute me
in the southwest monsoon
that buries the city in july
i let the gray rainfall
choke me, drown me
until all my colors have
bled through me

i think i can dilute me
and make me easier
tolerable for you
to drink up, to love
there is nothing more i want
consume me, renew me
make me water in your hands

i think there are other people
out there, waiting for me
but i don’t want to wait for them
when i have waited so long for you
so just dilute me, **** me
let me be a chasm
and fill me up, up, up

i think you can make me
into someone you will miss

i hope you

- lick rust, get tetanus, and die
- forget your keys in the car
- step on glass, get a foot infection, and die
- get a mind-numbing toothache from 11 PM to 2 AM
- get stuck in space with your oxygen running out
- never find someone who matches your freak
- compute your GPA and realize you’re a few points away from getting Latin honors
- choke on boba
- get bitten by an unidentified venomous snake and you don’t have access to the antidote so you slowly die
- get CC’ed on a HR email before you clock off
- time travel, get stuck in the 1800s, and die from cholera
- trip on your shoelaces and land on dogshit
- never find the other sock
- are the last person alive in a zombie-filled apocalyptic wasteland
- miss me

your sweatshirt
socks
my copy of Hunger Games you spilled juice on
rain-drenched Sambas
a navy blue comforter
your backpack full of ants
my sweatshirt
thrifted sheets of music with suspicious brown spots
a couple of DVDs we washed, thinking it would make them work again
your old Nokia
a pack of cigarettes
torn-up black stockings
polaroids to make that blurred effect
me

plant your sorrows into my earth
and i will bear the sweetest fruit
the summer sun marks our rebirth
teeth bared, feline-like in her pursuit

when time sits with me comfortably
i forget i was ever thirteen - even twenty
she is someone i can barely hold
her laughter is made of stuff purer than precious gold

when time sits with me comfortably
i despair at the thought of being thirty
she is someone i can barely hold
her dreams are the dinner table food i left out and gotten cold

when time sits with me comfortably
i feel like i am choking from inside out, endlessly
but to think on it too much makes the suffering unending
and before i sleep, i think what i feel isn’t pain but understanding

i open my mouth
to taste the rain
and pretend that is you
i am not cold, i am not wet
i am covered in you

a tiny thing, a little cat
brings me little treasures
things she has caught
but i don't want them
i have already closed
the worn-out kitchen door

it leaves its little presents
by the doorframe
i watch her leave them
and wait for me
to arrive, to praise her
like i have done before

she sees me by the window
i see her confused little face
i turn away, close the shades
and she does not leave
and i do not leave
and i do not open the door