you don't know how this goes anymore,
the way you should cup plump red strawberries
heavy and dying in your palms.
you write eulogies over their slippery seeds
with the wet pink tip of your tongue.
"i was the best you'd ever have," you say.

once you're in love
(once you were in love)
pressing your hips to a warm body
becomes an obsession easy to fill
with your skin and your breath
and your name on the window
fingerprints and tongues
ten digits
a hand; a phone number
god
screaming you awake from limbo
when you aren't deserving enough
of a good night's sleep.

you sleep when you can,
and define the good days
as days you don't hurt anyone.
"stop thinking about -"
"there is never another after me"
i would be yours
or otherwise
the best you'd ever have.
your sandman if you wanted me to be.

we are not together
because you can sit still like i can't.
you can be in love and speechless
in shock and be speechless
in life and speechless.
so this is where i stand.

i promised you
i would be good and sorry.
i am sorry.

i am the opposite of your warm body,
more icy and blue-lipped
and biting into your flesh to prove
that your skin is just a prison you can feel
and that feeling trapped is at least
better than feeling inside out.

i am an electric wire.
my mind and skin and lips are buzzing
and i never get touched.
i am not religious and my head throbs.
i am a leech, and i am the london bridge,
and there are not words to describe you.

jealousy is a tidal wave.
i am a leech, and i am used to this
at the gates of paranoia.

i wanted to say i loved you but
i had to go one more time.

i want to understand jesus.
i want to be with you.
i'm having
a bad day
relatively.