lotion

knot by knot go
up the wall
your spinal
tap
into your feelings
little
girl the
water’s hot
your skin so dainty
fainting
hard
so very hard this
question
on the paper
drawing lines
upon your head
upon your wrist
so very thin
and you are not
encircling your waist
it chafes
the feeling on the phone
when you’re alone
your love is floating
in a satellite
your words are roaming
in the page
it is so grey
the color of your brain
sublime machine
cogs and tendons
things that break
you are awake
again so late so late so
light this blanket
heavy
on the eyes
the melancholy
of somebody’s
absence
is the kind
-est thing there is
nothing more
and more is said it
never ends
this poem a rub
for smoothening
the aches and kinks
like oil and lotion
slick and skidding
off the rails
i’m off again.

 

Painting by Mariella Angela, “2 Pac”

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