We need to talk (AKA a poem I’m kinda scared to post on a blog that a) is linked to my school newspaper and b) that my grandmother reads)

Close your fist around my ligaments,

feel static electricity at our

Fingertips, swallow my knuckles with your

palm sweat and hangnail and scorched blood marbled

like scabbed countertop, self-inflicted stabs

On cutting board, serrated smiles because

Maybe then we can heal-


Sign to me                                                               “I love you”, I will teach you

like I taught stuffed animals when I was

Four and fluent and signed

                                                                                   “kitty, cookie, Mama” or

                                                                                   “more milk now” at most but of course

Their stiffened paws did not curl over mine

like moss on dead wood, like I want you to

hold me baby, soothesay me,

Feel the slap of skin on Play-Doh forearms,                     “Sunset, sunrise,

                                                                                                     fuck me harder,                                                                                                                                       I love you”,

Flat open palms scrunched into claws for                            “Want”,

make two rabbit people with your pointer and index

So they can skin each other.

Let me feel your saliva seeping

through pores, through poems,

Soak the words and near rhymes-

I am sorry I cannot hear

you, but please

                                             sleep to me a sentence,

                                             sex to me a stanza,

                                             sign to me a sonnet, and



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