Where does the mind go
when the body gets lonely?
the art
of the slippery slope
patron saint of ambivalence
the evening is creased in expectation
sky a dark blue throb. Daubed
in moonshine, we bewitch
palms full,
and yet. Do I only exist
in the white of your eyes?
Are you out for blood?
Ribs swell in plain sight
, crack
me open and stare
all glossy pink and haloed
peachy, scented with hurt
swirled together like bathwater,
partially immersed, you rub away
the pearlescent sheen. moth's wings
in the bathwater.
your fingers glow
like the moon. this shedding.
you alchemize and
devour.
Tonight I am not more
than a body.
I evaporate so suddenly
you can't even walk me home.