flat on your back
is as good a place
as any to decide
you can’t go lower…
Body
My legs aren’t real,
you can’t convince
me they are, jelly
doesn’t flow in veins…
muscles are twitchy,
blood pumps uncomfortably
through veins,
feeding the twitches…
I am cold
inside and out
the blood muscle
is a rock…
I’d know you
with my eyes closed
and my hands tied
behind my back. …
here I was, thinking depression
sucked the body heat
out of me…
stomach is echo
of itself,
slightly out of step
with rest of body…
I touch my stomach, tracing
the ghost of where
your hand gently squeezed,
marveling that you like…
I encircle your waist
you hold me tight
like the world isn’t ending…
What if you decided
to write the thing
just to prove to yourself
that you don’t want….
