A. 414: desasosiego

this bedroom is frost compared to the warm dew i imagine on your windowsill.
i wanted to wake up tangled somewhere among your ribs,
perhaps caught neatly inside the only cage strong enough to contain my hurricane:
that of matriculated osteoblasts clustered mass upon seething mass
and hardened like my expression into something strong and silent and deceptively fragile: bone.

let me fold myself into the minute spaces between your organs and the bars.
i will seep quiet and careful into pockets of air and venal walls
and the cracks where light does not show,
clot like blood on your arterial walls– but don’t worry, your heart will not attack,
and the only arrest will be that which puts me in this prison.

i am a criminal of the highest order: i dare to be emotional–
i dare to feel for you.

lock me up and swallow the key.


purple satin is too rich for me.
i wrap myself in this mantle of many names and i swear it feels just like your skin
so that i step steaming and warm (fresh, brown and scalding like bread from my mother’s ancestral oven) into my bedroom
and caress myself with whispering fibers that tell me your name,
and echo the sound of your moans from my dreams;
i could almost conjure your presence beside me.
this longing is strong enough for that.

i gave birth to a stillborn love for you
and now i lay mired in red-black afterbirth,
becoming swallowed by my own placenta
until i am choking and fetal inside you.
i am a murderer.

lock me up and swallow the key.

purple satin is too rich for me.
this mantle makes memory a thing of the future
and i am suspended in the present, complacent:
a willing prisoner entombed between your fourth and fifth ribs.
your heart is beating beneath my shoulder blades
and i can’t tell whose pulse is pounding in my throat–
whether i have swallowed your essence,
or become it.


i am a criminal.
purple satin is too rich for me.
lock me up

and swallow me.


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