which is to say i’ve never

been in love before, but that’s

not to say i’ve never loved.

​

it takes a certain sort of soul

to settle into empty walls

and create solace from stillness

​

and i’m not convinced i have
the mettle to drop my yellowing

leaves on this mud-stained carpet.

​

most days, i think just after

breaching, the doctors dipped

my heaving infant body

​

in honey and left me to dry

in the desert sun until sinew

dissolved into bleached bone.

​

after a week, they came back
to find me miles away
sitting among the trees i planted

​

there moments prior. in lieu
of water, i got drunk on time ––
a flimsy pretense for permanence.

​

which is to say i’ve never

lied before, but that’s
not to say i’ve never spoken.