Sickness

your body is a bolt of sheer fabric
shot from a crossbow — unwinding

so thin it’s hard to understand
how to hold you — gentle

like a handful of raspberries — tight
like an arm on an icy sidewalk

at night television light seeps from your cracked
door — I can’t shut it but I want to

I want to brick you in and hang a young
picture on the tomb — I’m ready — please

die tonight so we can stop bending our lips
like question marks around the word love


This first appeared in Rust + Moth (They were also kind enough to nominate it for a Pushcart. It’s a great journal — definitely worth checking out)

Image via Flickr user DigiTaL~NomAd. Image has been cropped.