Rot

The skeleton is split, two arms, two faces, one pair of shoes (right foot drags more than the left.) This is the first indication that there is two too much.

Listen closely.

This path travels both ways.

I will knock down everything in the house. She will forgive me in a heartbeat. She will break everything she can get her fingers around. I would rather break the fingers themselves.

List of things to put back on the shelf (you’ve had enough already):
time/sadness/garbage/perfume/patterns/energy/batteryacid/wholemilk/soymilk/money/space/noise/cum/want/want/buttons/pins/needles/darkchocolate/salt

Her:
There is no such thing as too much when all of this is spun from our own skin. It can’t be too much when we’re carrying it as we speak– backpack in perfect balance– bodies made to hold other bodies.

Interlude:
If she were to let her hands jack-o-lantern into me, it would never end
the danger of submission
If I let go, it would never end
could she begin to hold that?
Of course not.
But that doesn’t mean
the too-muchness isn’t stirred into my coffee
the way I relish being watched
wet, bitter lip
scalding in my lap
the too-muchness is loving her w/o “go ahead”
and I look down to see claws
there is no filter
she will see it leak through my eyes
ears
bellybutton
acid reflux
failed bulimic
as if this was ever under my command

And the teeth rot
and they rot
and they rot

Conclusion:
I am in the middle of the empty room, drowning in my own flesh. She is licking the bones clean– messy work, but one of us has to do it. I am licking the wrapper for crumbs, she smells the aluminum and it reminds her of blood– it pours out her nose  our nose in response.

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