I carry a bag of words, see one or two slip out to find a place where my eyes rest on the arch of your throat. I lose you when I search for lines that furrow your thoughts.
My body is a map of bruises, circle that I ring on the calendar for days that gather dust and smoke, a burning of the skin that one can sniff from down the street.
I step into my womb lit dull by the sun at the wane of a hurricane. The river that flows into the sea is a sluggish residue of memories, mine and yours as grey dips into black.
Scales of fish that line my skin, carry secrets of lifetimes with you on the plains under the moon where lakes turbid with passion sent smells to the region of my sleep.
When I crouch in my shadow, making a firm ball of my body I see the smear of stain that I leave on this universe like snot of darkness wedged between two questions.