I give her my hands to hold. Tell her
this body knows how to hold,
knows how to fill till it is too full.
My words fall like sharp daggers that I spill into her palms,
tell her some words only cut so she must swallow them fast.
The truth hurts, as it goes down, how we try to hold these lumps down.
Try to stomach them. To give to others, who can stomach them.
Whisper thoughts so heavy like sand weights. My anchors, for her.
Ask for a fortune. Tell her that this is all I have to give.
She says, “You are glass, cracking now, your clean breaks will always be lies. You’ll cut your hands checking. You will always check.”
maybe my loneliness is just a result of my soul being put into this human body, the separation of a collective, the soul’s sadness of our bodies confinement. alone. all i have are these water down words. this fragile skin, this fumbling tongue producing poor translation. this chest that only knows knows cycles, this body only knows how to continue. puzzle piece body. trying to fit.
I just want your hands.
On me. Want your tongue. In me.
Want you. Around me.
watch the way I react to your touch
my body is speaking so I don’t have to
and there’s a lot it’s been waiting to say.
when I think of you, I see a heart bursting, pouring,
I want to be something that knows how to hold you.
Listen, come inside my home.
Unzip your skin, unbutton your rib cage.
I imagine touching your heart
I imagine touching you.
My hand matching your rhythm.
I want to turn your body into water.
Let me keep you flowing.
Swear softly, out loud, things like
fuck and holy. You look like someone
I want to worship with my lips. This body.
Christen this body
I could moan your name into a prayer.
If you give me a chance.
Maybe there’s a black hole in me.
How else do I store so many words?
Caught in my throat, vacuum sucked
back into my chest.
You’re glass that’s made to
crack, at least in my hands. I’m
not even trying.
I didn’t realize
you were such a masochist.
It’s why you come back.