here is
where one body begins where
another resurges.
as the sheets rust and shuffle
we take turns
feeling useful to each other,
tracing losses
in the folds of where it hurts
the most, how
it comes so close to skin
and passes for a
touch it’s not supposed to.
sores in soles
and wounds in palms
and signs we’re
all we said we’d never
succumb to.
but I know you. the lower
it feels the more
power it holds over you.
this is what
it means to face the urge,
deny its urgency.
there are sharper things
we slip into by
slitting deep and true
within us. like
scavenging for substance
in the flesh,
mistaking what is hunger
for aggression.
one body stirs, and another
is suggesting
that it takes from where it
finds, mistakes
a space that’s mine for someone
cold and unaffecting.


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