#6

I want to embroider your brevity into my skin
with stitches made from ink and a tattoo pen
because the good vibrations you send my soul
racked my body so harshly my spine was broken
like a back-arching second Coming (and maybe
that imagery is heretical, but even God can see
that neither of our lives have been kosher
doctrine since the first time you kissed me.)

There are days where you make me tired
because the fight against your faith to the sky
suspends me so close to the sun's rays
I melt in your presence like Icarus.
Your love has enervated me; made me sick
of standing up for myself in favor of
a quick solution I can patch over your eyes
like a precipitate so you can love me blindly.

I write you poetry in my dreams.
If it made a difference, I would give an eye
to exchange for your i-egoism;
but all you do is create a schism
that catches me by the throat until I lie
six feet under your body that catches me
in a chokehold so precipitous I'll scream
till my vocal cords are frayed wisps
whispering about your denigration.