Peel back the gauze,
the mesh-work,
the skein of your vast
improbable being.
I want to see
the spaces where your pain
is still fresh,
those wounds which
are still malleable.
I want to see you
before you’ve shriveled
into a scar,
into prisms of panic
and unfinished flesh.
–
An inchoate soup simmers
on a hearth of my own design.
Into the pot I press
your inconsolable words
and your tears vague as dew.
The only way to know a man
is to consume him, piecemeal,
without the ruse of sentiment.
There can be no secrets between us
only omissions and oversights.
mindlovemisery 