Your frayed edges
have combed
knots
into the contours
of my stomach
You know
My mind has spiraled out
in fifteen
clouded directions
my skin has blossomed with
hundreds of
unwashed revelations
You hear
Force those words into
Your ear
they’ll echo before they
ricochet
against your skull
you’re tall
I fear
I do not need the

slow dawn’s worry
I do not want the
waning light
I do not like the
skin beneath my
eyes to drain
colored vein
For what
For the ache of you
to give
the gape of my mouth
a tepid
draw
I move in muddled worry
plagued
by all your attributes
so small
You take
away my wandering
eye and
plague my tired
mind and
I’m walking on a
line
that I
have drawn to you
from me