drag it

that way

across so much of me

in need of coming open.

that utensil is a convocation.

i have seen so much,

doing my undoing

in a matter of lines i draw

and draw and draw through it.

these, the transgressions of my body

assume sagging

just as simply

as more unbroken flesh.

my bathroom mirror

cannot bend nor mend itself

back into existence

as you or i do,

becoming human.