(future tense)

It goes like this—
I have survived.

You are there—
drawn over a supernova
with your arms wide
like riding a tiger without
stripes

or my face is bruised
& you are the bathtub
I crawled out of
like a second womb
& it has taken me this long
to avoid the peach pits
against the inside of my
cheeks that you pulled out
with your impossibly
long fingers

or you have been patient
in your chair of
broken glass
for me to unhang myself
from my ankle
& blow my life
into your mouth

or the mountains have
turned their backs
& I’m traversing their
steepled spines
because your beauty
is monumental
& I have to build it

or on the first day
I played you so slow & gentle
by your secrets
that the car backfiring
down the block
set you to exploding
while I inhaled your
brick dust to keep me
safe

or the birds on my body
only move their heads
when you’re looking
& you are the only one
I’ve let this far in
& that is why they’re
singing

or I don’t want to collect
on any more possible
injuries so our spines
can interlock in bed
& if I ever scar you
I’ll only be extinguishing
myself

or you know my happiness
better than I do
because you’ve read my
comet trails with your
palms & I’ve been blistering
since then
living as a leper far away
from the things that
aren’t you

or you are so zen
your face has no real
particulars but I can
feel your body solid
as a wall or a gate
way

or I would have to count
the hues of how many
loves have come before
you like spinning a color wheel
in prayer
but inside me you’re four
& I can wait until
you’re ever stupid enough
to love me

or that day was biting
my lips to blood
but I am more willing
to love you
than I am to
die.