still beneath, but rising.
The cooling wind and I swapped faces
but now my friends don't recognise me
and I panic through summer.
I think I prefer to imagine your touch
than to feel the burn and sweat of human skin
and struggle with the ways you've changed.
In my head, you're God.
I've given myself free access to the divine
and now this brain of mine is eaten through like Swiss cheese,
flea-ridden, moth-bitten.
Good thing I know my way around the holes,
rarely do I trip.