“You look good,” they say,
a hackneyed admission
I reply the same, veins
bursting with longing.
Our bodies rock in place
metronome perfection
aligned to each other’s
rhythms. Did they notice?
I haven’t forgotten
the timing of their spirit.
“Mine,” my ribs hiss,
tucked under their hands
(they say Adam took just
one, but I would give you ten)
greed that smothers
speech into stone.
My little bones weren’t meant
to hold all of this.
My soul too acute
to leave love I miss.
The stitching that sewed
my skin into shifts
is breaking at the screams
and fraying at the sins.
“Spare thread,” I reason
to loop shut my lips.
I have always been good
at killing confessions
before they can leave
the bassinet.
