i am a burial ground, bone between index and thumb
yet to conquer the violence of feeling
i am half made up with no chance
and i did it all to be the shiver in your spine, the tears that seep into your cheeks when i mention your grandfather or biking or the ocean where you left your sun
i did it all for you press your hands together and tell me i was never real
for a foggy smile and a drippy chest to lay my head
i never retired into the idea of domesticity