(an exquisite corpse written with kaitydavie in the Melrose Diner, Philly, august 2014;
she starts this one.)


This is a plea — on any given
day, on any given street

there is a rose growing
from the palm of my hand, 
& I am unsure if I should
clip it.

Showtime. There are limits I
have chosen to ignore & 
boundaries I have chosen to
break. I just —

I make a list of the most
satisfying sounds; a train arriving, 
an arrow leaving a bow, &

— I falter. No ones fault but my own,
inking arrows into my skin with
no know direction,
I falter.

I can’t tell your intention from
the doorway, I can’t
tell anything these days.

Do I have the power to take
(Was it even a question?)

Fuck me like iced tea
& the way certain birds take flight.

I spread my arms — can you see
the power pulsating through my
spine? Drink it in, drink
me in. I am cool, I am

We’ll finish at the bottom, 
as if we had a choice. 
Damn it.

I refuse / I refuse / I repent. 
Forgive me.

I should never have taught you how
to care about the shape my
mouth makes,

— & the world goes ‘round again. 
When I write, I am writing a letter
to your spine - I want
to watch it’s subtle curve
for hours;
to your hands - I want
to measure your fingers
across my ribs; 
to the slant of your neck - I want
to drink it all in; 
to your mouth - I want,
well, I won’t need the words for that. 
Show me your scriptures,
take me to church.