before I met you
I didn’t think it was possible
for someone to speak to me
without actually speaking
through the pulse of their eyelashes
by callouses on the crease of their fingers
by the freckles beneath their ears that trickle honey down the knots in their spine
sweet honey, not the sticky kind
sticky like your ankles as they clash against each other
as you walk
walk
       walk
              walk
walk turns into run
when the honey crystallizes
sugar coating your skin like a cocoon and you’ve always loved insects
you’re dissecting yourself
like a butterfly that’s flightless
but you still try to run
and I’m starting to understand why there's always blood on the sidewalk

but never yours
because yours is hidden
hidden beneath the snow of December’s lust
as you frown as the strangers complain about its filth
you think you’re filth
aren’t insects filthy?
that’s what your sister used to tell you

nails against concrete
lungs hammering against the walls of your body -- your cocoon
words running through your head like misfiring artillery
they call it friendly fire
but to you it’s just another wednesday
and wednesdays are the worst for you, I know
wednesdays are for words
are for their revival
words

            words
                        words
coating your neurons with a syrup
as they dwindle down through your body with the weight
from your chin to your toes
you’re all words
the last ones your sister ever said to you,

that you were so sweet,
sweet like honey