Blue sweatpants
and a hole in the sock
I look inside myself.
Wandering crevices. Cracks.
Here, the cruelest places
are the ones I need to see.
In these niches are the voices
of everyone else.
At the bottom of my chest
he rests. Familiar smooth. Rock.
I know the river of hair
running away down his back.
Here, the softest places;
when another skin wears me.
Everywhere. You've built ramps.
You hold me up inside myself.
Resting my face on your chest
how seldom I release from the block.
Everything makes sense. And doesn't.
You remind me I have what I've lacked.
Here, the sweetest places.
I would have never relaxed I don't think.
Millions of little iridescent boxes.
Defenses. I built mine with stealth.
You track them, these
floating intelligent jellies
braced and waiting for slightest attack
Human eyes tracking you back.
Every movement dissected.
I resist requiring these ramps
you create for rolling me forward
away from quick, invisible death.
