The time I was body parts
and other skin,
now I am over her.
As for them,
a heart-shaped look,
a full grotesque
known to force the fallen ground
into her soul –
forever carried in some high.
Summer had her laughing,
I practiced time,
I was the day.
Still my name was moving to missed reels,
crushing enough.
I tensed walking,
I needed to negotiate space.
Because my body didn’t find words.
Despite her ongoing emotional nothing,
I blinked hard,
tripping forward,
asking for desert hands.
My useless wasteland,
years’ desire –
finally I found anxiety instead,
pushed the hand to hurt myself.
My summer around her –
days of writing Sorry.
We barely could straighten dirt
and steal talk.
body parts and other skin
