#poemrequests

(￣▽￣)

It has been ninety days of drought and famine since you left. Did you know that blood cannot pump without water, without iron, without a meat hand shoved inside a sweater? There are empty latex gloves packed tightly like gauze that stretch when I stand up to greet anyone who looks even faintly like you did. The last time I saw you there was a film over your lips; you said it was a protective layer, that the sun was too hot for your pink skin and ‘no- don’t kiss it, it’ll smudge’.  I skipped that meal like it was a commune with God; I spent all my time praying to the hairs just below your nose, thanking them thanking them thanking them for working together to create a patch of your body. But you snuck out the back door during communion so I started digging in my chest for more wine. There must be handles on my heart that you're dragging me by, but I can’t see them (or I'd pull you off).