Cradle Song

June 19, 2019

You told me, “to bed with you”

and now I am a land

between memories and the ridge of a scar.


You gave me something to look at:

bruises like nebulas that receded

into my skin.


Your touch — oh how I tried

to worry those wounds

with my own.


The stories blur,

become bulimic.

Ghosts and gaping holes appear —


in the black

at the edges —

I don’t recall them burning so beautifully.


Abandon ship. It’s time.

For me to change places.

For you to peer through the waves.


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