You, wrapped in bed sheets,
hurtling down concrete staircases
with only the flaking scalp
of fleeting years to seize.

Vulgar love notes they carved
into your brain-shaped box
with fingers muddied
with adultery, gluttony

until you were a shape unknown.
Pouring over you, contorting you;
healthy vesicles stamped
into undoored rooms

disguised as stars.

Where sofas lie beneath plastic
I could never reach you.
But I fold my clean towel around you
as you lie on your soiled bed

and listen for horses,
knowing they couldn’t
put you back together again
as I rock your sweet head.