humans, humans

forgive me when i showed you
the deep set bruises on my wing bones,
the only sonnet i ever conducted,
i wrote it in spanish,
the soil around the succulents
was wet with left over fog,
i clutched doris in my palms,
told her i’d wish a thousand times
she’d teach me how to string a ribbon
through a typewriter’s skull
because when i press down on its teeth,
it makes the prettiest sound.

i love shit that rips off the ocean,
like spilled watercolor paints,
like aquarium glass where they
keep all the secret deep sea life,
like the movement of her hands
twisting in and out of mine,
just like something flowing and salty,
because we’re sweating and breathing all heavy
but not treading water,

and i’ve got these brushes
that are thick enough to hold
all kinds of paint,
and i’ve got the cards all stacked,
got the branches of rosemary,
the pieces of paolo santo,
writing a poem about a forest
that looks over a graveyard
because wouldn’t that just be
the quietest thing,
like right when the sun pushes
its way through the pine braches,
it’ll shine on a mausoleum,
all marble and gleaming and the silence
will remind you about what you said about my back –
protect its strength
because it’s the thing that holds all of you in.