I wonder if you can hear the cracks around each syllable
how I no longer speak in poetics—
my thoughts have become ashy
my flesh plastic
my tongue dry
my lips cracked//
do you still want me to kiss you?
Your pulse thumping under the pages of your crumpled letter
We’re slamming doors just to hear the sound
they can smell our blood
I gather the leftover words and tattered last-thoughts
Of course, even chaos eventually leads down a one-way path
Outside the streetlights are shining for the moths
They flutter and bat their wings
as we exchange our bruises in the dark
(your silhouette flickers)
Don’t let me disappear
even when my mystery fades
Fossilize me in your time
On the Verge of Existing 