lapsing with morning
we subsist on gaps and fissures
you, idle in the doorway
say you’re too porous
I decide to laze elsewhere
there are raw holes in the cupboards
but I can’t quite fit
I could wrestle with space
under the bed but it’s busy
with broken-down boxes
in the closet’s nooks
between coats
I command hooks to house
my flesh and sentience
if not for bones:
I’d blend with cloth, leave a
layer of me on a hanger
meet you in the hollows between
rooms and ask
is this enough?
instead
I wait between
boots and loose belts
for you to fill me up
(originally published by Random Sample 2015)
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