when you talk, you
hook little clusters of words
to my collar and call it the most
beautiful crochet.

communication, my dear
it doesn’t mean:

biting my tongue
until little drops of truth
drip from my lip and
onto my sweater.


(exposed to the world
- so unfashionably)

i'm a fool,
your shiny foil.
enhancing elegance
i'm practically-
pragmatic.
deserving girl,
get your dustpan ready
and sweep your dirt
off his stationary feet.

i'm rediscovering body heat
in such a foreign way.

you shed that electric blanket.
each fine hair chasing it as it
hovers down my spine.

this body pulsates with cold sweat.
the intimate ocean.

i like your fingers
and how they fit
into the ripples of my ribcage. beneath waves

are fallen sailors.
who wished to drown in my flesh.

isolated hibernation
i went digging through the deep freezer
to find affection
nothing but a handful of sores and frost
startled-
your hands melted the ice
your fire gave me life
the same that burned in the pit of my stomach

lets write poems under the sky
about intimacy and anatomy
adorned in sheets and flesh

lets take photographs in the dark
exposures of pale faces on black
adorned in mittens and sweaters

lets break our fingers off the piano
crying melodies and harmony
adorned in disappointment and blood

whilst here,
you and i,
we melt into the sofa and
compare our bones
just for a while.

whilst here,
here we lay,
stealing for feeling and
assuring sincerely:
"you can stay"

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.