I have nimble fingers that creak and crack at the thought of weighted limbs and tangled flesh.
Like the waxing moon pulling off each of my nails-
One by one.
I am scared of climbing with broken hands.
I am versed in lust but love I have only thought of as
dripping
From my tongue after morning tea.
I am not who I think I am at all-
I have always been afraid of lovers who pull the zipper of my flesh.
I am not as naked without my clothes as without my bones.
I have always worn them crooked.