My legs tense, eyes wary of the slightest movement
around me
I had to bury all my doubts to even lift a finger,
the one
attached to
a line from my sternum to my hips
--So I’m here?
Does my presence fail to impress?
-- no,
it’s nice to feel false breath escape one’s lips
and maybe
everything
we take for granted isn’t really
there, but inside (here); why bother
holding on to memories
of the people you haven’t met
when that face beside you now disintegrates to nothing.
Even yours, smiling as it’s
picking words and touching
your sad hands, mascara pens or other ******
“mistakes” you’ve made.
I am ashamed and not guilty
free from sin and not devout; I watch every drop of sunshine
Boil in my head and horrifyingly
Evaporate.
This empty planet is a hot ***; that’s how I know
we are both, in each of our solemn refusal to cling to
willingness as virtue or
consume yourself with habit—yes I know,
eternal subjectivity, which is both you and me
is cooking up a stew,
and that regardless if you know it
one day my boiling water
will be inside of you