We were recovering from something, part 1


For a while you sleep

with the stain of my nose bleed

on your pillow case.

I am moved by your indifference.

You forget where

the drop came from.




From within, feathers

prick the lining: reminders

of an impossible softness.

I want to shake them out

and make the world

tremble white.


This creased cotton membrane

contains nothing

but tender stuffing

to cushion your head. Still

as you breathe, I think about

downy hairs shivering.




The accidental mark I left

reveals the illusion

of the body’s boundary.


I keep quiet about the surges

because I cannot turn myself

inside out. Surfaces of

sleep, linens, skin

concealing invisible waves

and glowing circuits.



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