Will you still love me when my bones no longer hold me together? Will you still hold me when my mouth is heavy with poetry and cracked canines? I’ve yet to tell you how his absence has almost left my shoulders blades. Has almost left my silent throat.
I will open my chest
I will open my chest so that it swallows the sky;
maybe then I can feel whole again.
Silver hands on my spine, your firecracker empty, your speechless empty, your crawl space mouth, sleeping in the crook of my neck,
how do you expect me to fall asleep, so alone?
I will not let you touch me like that, touch me like that, not like that;
I will not let your muffled breaths turn my voice into silence,
I have already become the quiet
that fills your side of the bed
I have apologized, too many times, for not holding my spine upright while your heaviness sits on my back.
How do you except me to fall asleep, when you are everywhere, except here