you are not the roar
you are the whimpers
the crook necked panting
your skin melding with other skins
learning new ways of exalting
(holiness or blasphemy-- i don’t know.)

you are not the water
you are not the water
you are not the water
you are the wine
a drink,
half served,
half severed.

you are not the tired reminder
you are the action the moment meant to be remembered.

i think it only makes sense that i give up
and kiss away the last memory
of being human.