I want you to be someone else, to tell me this desire is original
we cannot otherwise part, the flashing lights occasionally reveal the impressions I was born with
I'll cut to the quick: the lights are coming on and I'm afraid I won't love you then
the kiss
your ebony cats glide toward us in tandem— you part your hair and lean over me on my side of the bed
we kiss, but I'm almost afraid to touch you, the truth may speak itself unwittingly as I draw the sheet taut against the length of my body
touch
the body ferries your spirit, disconnected as a dream from its birthing place
the space beyond the womb is untenable, every moment accrues strangely into age as touch is slowly relieved from you
lament in three colors