is cleaning its beak on the ground-
we are closer now than ever-sitting
in shadow-I never want to scare
anyone-not really-I have a friend
who loves people who come out
suddenly-in the dark-
pleasure
is the same distance as pain from here-
that's my skin on your sweater-both hands
stripped now-I know I am someone
to you I am entirely-practicing
Spanish on the computer-gesturing to
the neighbor instead of speaking-
to sharpen
the body is never an accident-someone
I know I am not-letters are inseparable
from loss-moving what can be still
moved-one is sweeping the mouth-
what ever isn't skin-take it off-


About this poem
"Melissa is the name of the young woman I once was, and while it's true that she never left me, I often wonder if I left her. This poem is one way of saying, 'Thank you, Melissa, for being a body my death could die into.'"


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