• we were strangers
    using hand gestures to learn soothing comfort
    and intensity. we built cities,
    created ruins, destroyed fragments of our past lives.

    the taste of the damp conversations,
    unsatisfactory to the scent of your shoulders
    cripples my cravings for silhouettes,

    it's the model of quicksand we now portray.
    sketching dim ink,
    bruised lungs.
    i rub your name off my tongue in columns;
    moist, sickeningly sweet friction.
    my hands tuck & swell up, remembering the
    acute, shaking awareness
    that you're the unbearable nerves
    under my skin; leading magnetism towards light