yesterday was a singed lampshade. today
is a clanking radiator. tomorrow
will be a sagging windowsill.
you told me that your chest
could be my resting place. it heaves
like a billowed sail.
our lives are swelling outward. I touch
you and you don’t even stir in the sheets.
I trace your vertebrae. I feel no heat,
only bones stacked as tall as dinner plates.
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