I often find that when I am naked,
I lose boundaries.
I don't know where my skin ends
and the world begins.

When I lie in bed, I become part of its cotton comforter and sheets.

When I walk around my house, I become part of the nest:
I am the hearth, the warmth, and settling dust.

When I was with you, I
became part of you.
I was your skin,
you were mine.
I was your Sunday night stubble,
your whispers and breathy chuckles. I was
your short fuse and forced
indifference,
your silence.

When we tried to pull our
boundaries back,
we fought.
We tore uneven
       borders.

I took some of you, you took
some of me.