Say something

before you run out of time, before your words don't match
the ones inside your lungs, before your throat gets weary
and dry;

say something

like a love line in a rundown coffee shop, like a goodbye at the start
of a thick novel, like a confession hidden inside a box
inside your hands;

trembling —

say something

to feel
to die
to go,

I want you

this world will never hold you in its arms
but if it does

it will never set you free,
it won't let go anymore

and I can't walk to the backyard
to bury your broken body
get the dirt off your fingernails

wash the blood off

or push you inside the skin of the earth, I can't
love you this way — the smell of your body

like a grip around my wrists; my lips bleeding
a word

you like the most.