I am the four apples lined up like soldiers
And awaiting your inflexible command
Or the two fingers reaching down
Towards the sick warmth and comfort
Of the very back of your bleeding throat
And yet I can still picture you cringing
Quivering beneath your downy covers
As gunshots ring out by the horizon
And your shoulder blades are knives
On which I could impale myself
If I fell from a great enough height
I'm nothing but a little girl and her machete
But it's shocking how much more puissant I feel
When your barely-there body lies
Pressed up against my own and
It never occurred to me how small
You were until I was able to hold you
Ever so scrupulously in the palm of my hand
Time stays still, locked between
The legs of some heavenly caesura
I can’t see it, you’re saying to me
As you squint into the horizon hoping
To find a future - yours, mine
Anyone's
