you were the first borrower.

(Read: Intervention)

 

you are the kind of confetti who

unraveled in my hand

 

Am I making a hothouse full of insects

in the folds of our knees?

 

hand small mosquitos

an airconditioned room

 

a paper bag of condoms

tie with plastic needles made for mending

this swelling

the sting of the cold against

tongue, I hear your

residence elsewhere

 

tell me I taste like honey

like an old t-shirt’s hem

 

hold my throat

our teeth bumping

 

soft binary switch to “off”

love in girls who locked

 

little metal tags nailed to the trees

the little golf carts the elevator door

I am tired of hearing about

girls who wanted

 

bought from them stacks of leaves

supposed to mean security

 

there the fan, the muddy ankles

one bed creak in a continuum

 

I said “I’m tired of running in orbit,

walking on water”

 

when my mother she say

I have been here before

 

the bruises on her hand

hand tracing circles on my leg

 

pushing branches back for me

a wringing of her hands and in her ears

 

I am too afraid of wrinkled sheets

chasing their way across her windshield

 

laughing in each other’s ears

won’t raise the sea level

I am all glass and fishbowl

the light is beautiful here