How much love can I really hold, though
in the palm of my hands,
as if it is ever so strong to be visible, as if I could watch the blood of it fall down my forearms and pool in the crease at my elbows
I am trying to hold so much in place
you make me want to,
you make me feel like it doesn't drown me, like it can't.
I just can't tell which blood is thicker
yours, covering my skin, filling my pores
or maybe the blood lining my throat, preventing me from kissing you the way you like
the blood of my scabby feet moving along dance floors.