i think at night something like my heart drips from my mouth and stains
the covers, and here is where i lost you and traced the question marks
with a cold index finger, told myself the answers
are in your gospel (i’m with you no matter what)
and still i believe in your aureate heart, somewhere still at odds
like clovers growing up in concrete. i see your little knees,
purple braille from kneeling too long in gravel and grits poured out
by your stepmother who took her cues from storybooks.
i see you the way you said and more,
patchwork man of stars and beasts.
if i let the steady rain in my periphery flood my sight and hold
very still, i think your words are heard, and your chestbeat
bruises what’s left of me, and i think at night i see you in everything.
at night is when i sang you to sleep in foreign tongues with a
fingertip trace on your back and at night is when i made my home
nestled between your ribs, my provenance and best hope.
and at first this was enough, to fall into tomorrow with one dazed
blink of lambent eyes and murmured hallelujahs,
thank the faceless sky for its providence, at first it was
enough, and at second thought you want more than what I was
allowed to ever give except you already took it, i’m in your pocket
small and warm on your skin on my shaking body on me
again but love, i said ;
did i whisper? extinguished voicebox and white flag eyes,
i did not even put up a fight. at the end I am still in your pocket,
my tongue and my memory in your hand for careless keeping,
and to this day (368 later) i am nothing but your tattered mattress
something like your vestigial heart leaking onto the sheets
and when you take a second, third, tenth lover i sag under
the weight because this bed was not made for three.