Signs of Life

honey dripped from

your curled

ear, and i stroked you with a hand born of musk

from the crook of your inner thigh

humus     soil      and the textures of your skin

the cycle, you laughed,

the absurdity,

and i covered my head in a blanket and proclaimed i would not like

to talk about it

that, in caution you pull away, and i

feeling that detachment that is the surest sign of distance

insist i must run before the heat of you electrifies my sockets

the wanting and not having

the space between grows its own thorns

i stayed all night although

at 4, i woke you

and at 409

until 5 and at 6 i have to run i say

unless the pressure of palm stays the panic for another

20 minutes

or at least until dawn

i have been scared, i said, for

a long time

and

wanting

when your thighs are mountains for climbing with curious hands

and your belly

reaches

out to meet me then

i know

that i would write love

for every morsel of flesh you

inhabit, that i would

shake

for the want of it

because the edge of your mouth is both sad and serene   and

because i have seen the moon,

the gods built a cowrie shell in the curve of your face

i’ve seen a cheek bone that slopes

into a hold      and

because your flesh grew safety stretched in

as the scars of your youth and

keloids flushed blood vessels as visible for

all time

but maybe just for me

sweet flesh that holds on

on a monday, i wake up furious,

i say    you’ve broken my

heart and you    respond

that i

broke

yours first

i won’t admit i’ve listened 3 times to your angry message

when i was gone and running and earning frostbite

because

the passion in your voice grips me

and promises to

hold me

until we collide    again

whether the passion is jagged

or whether it melts us together