my canines feel morphological
their sharpness cultivated to feast
and they seek every bone beneath your skin
burrowing in every square inch
eyes closed, face burning

i watch parts of me disappear
and your eyes, too
i smell pheromones
wherever i dig into
a need to get to the bottom
at any cost

we wrap around
our minds, each other
my hand, your neck
your legs, my hips

instincts i had long forgotten
taking over completely
desperate for the bones beneath
my teeth

we drove past a theater that used to exist
that you used to work at
it was 90 degrees and i asked questions like i drank my water
trying to quench a thirst that sneaked in
cutting through traffic to plots wrapped around projectors

i learned that even the grey memories
the offhand exposition
and dismissive reflection
are hooks i find myself hanging
every piece of clothing i own on

we drove across the asphalt i bled on
a broken car on a hot day
it was 92 degrees and you asked questions like i drank my water

you sneak in
and i don't feel thirsty

lore dumps and warm stares
on a lighthouse bench, cold stone
the fog getting lighter, but sticking close
like a cool jacket wrapped
shoulder to shoulder to shoulder to shoulder
interrupted only with being seen

I was as sure as Summer at the end
it’s when you just know
what you never did before

you can crawl into my skin
and ill play fog
like a cool jacket wrapped around
lore dumps and warm stares

in the quiet hours
my tenant refused to leave,
so I did

time enough for me to meet
strangers on a deck
find my body
everywhere it could stand
see every dead end

I escaped to a string light backyard
where I heard words I’ve never heard
murmured under songs I didn’t know

they liked my scent
and I liked their mind
in the quiet hours

I used to think I was a gardener
sowing lifelong seeds
pruning the leaves to ensure
I had the pleasure to grow old with them

I learned my precious plants
can choose to leave
I even learned they knew
how to wilt themselves into the dirt
I watched as nature took some before they even bore their fruit for me to see

I used to think I was a gardener
but I am just the sexton
to their graves

turqoise and bright spins on the ceiling
while i pack the uncomfortable thoughts
into the comforter we don’t share
tucking another day into “waiting”

i read more romance than ever
fantasizing about being touched again
my late intimacy lay in bed beside me

i got you everything you wanted
are you happy?

Early on I knew we were not suitable
But still I grasped for every moment with you
Water for a thirsty desert traveler

I followed you on a journey that went nowhere
If only just to walk with you

Parallel lines never touch
But they never leave each other, either