I peel

away the enamel mask from your hollow bones.
when the bullet hit, you

said it felt like “a glass
bottle dropped into a porcelain bathtub.”
I mould a

foreign flesh around a sunken cheek,
and you wish to still make love to woman
under a willow tree

and run into a tattoo
parlour to engrave moments across your chest
your breath escapes between your porcelain teeth

glancing over at the wall of borrowed expressions,
you ask which one will

be yours,
covering the blemish.

I paint a new disguise for you:
afraid of water
fond of caves
enamoured by hurricanes
down to delicate hands

I hope it fits

I hope to see you buried in this mask
and not by a second shot
through the skull to gray matter
below the surface of your skin.