place

The rising thunder heads remind me of your

blush, capillaries dilating, the blood excited

to stain the pale envelope of your chest with

the adoration of violent urges.

Of all the dreams that have found me none of them have been you.

I want to know the taut hum of your skin,

the quiet stanzas swelling before the storms.

I want to dig between every breath, in that small

space of hushed consumption when moments tease

death, let your ghost crawl under my nails.

Already I forget how to be touched. I am feral

but there are still places where you would fit

.