June 2nd

listen
there's some fragile storm stirring between us
i can feel it in my bones since you've unraveled their red sleeves
and hollowed them with splinters of lightning leaving me
a lacy matrix where veins and common sense used to flicker.
now when I comb my hair I worry about brushfires,
ilium and ischium ablaze, incendiary trillium
of kindling. the tips of my fingers matchsticks.
when you touch my hands, smoke.