Wide eyes when I enter
into the dim lit porch.
As usual you were hiding
in the corner drink in hand.
Was it the past
that broke your palms
so now you don’t extend them?
Cracked ribs
beneath the cotton you wear-
everyone lives in fear
of skinned knees and bruised elbows.
What would your skin
reveal if it was marked
with my red lipstick,
like the necks of bottles
or my morning cigarette.
From the lavender dreams I live in
dawn always shines the brightest
and reminds me
that I will never know how your vertebrates
came to be.

- C.K