What I Will Tell the Next Lover
I want to melt in your mouth like candied ginger
to leave you remembering my taste,
how I burned going down.
I want a body to hold me down like tires on gravel
to grind me into the rock then lift me out,
wipe the blood from the corner of my mouth.
I want to hear my bones splinter like kindling
to wrap each fracture tight in burlap,
splints made from popsicle sticks.
I want to be your church burned to the ground
to hear you singing hymns in my memory
while the flesh falls from my bones.
I want you to be a fish giving thanks to water
to watch as you suffocate on the bank,
cut loose from my line.
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