I need too much
I lean too hard
I want a pale white apple
With my name bruised into it
Offered to me by the hand of Saint Peter
Near the end of June
Anything to soothe the sting of these
Too dry, too long dry, red lips

I want a shawl as light as dragonfly wings
Warm in winter and cool in summer
Weaved of spider silk
With seams of straight lightning
Pulled down from the sky
Anything to wrap this
Too naked, too long naked, white frame

I lean too hard
My arms pressing into the tops of heads
Into the yoke of another man's shoulder
Hold me up and stuff pillows for me
Can't you see that I will fall into ruin?