inside the walnut shell we found the ocean.
we kept it secret, even when our love ebbed
like the tide. the sagging garage roof formed
a depression perfect for sleeping, and when
we could not sleep, we rolled the sea back
and forth between us. the tide refused to
return so we went to the desert and opened
the shell, creating vastness with our small
hands. we swam until you grew tired. i came
for every broken girl there are recycled parts.
but you are never the same. sometimes at
night you wake to find your stitched hand
over your mouth. the motor inside your chest
sputters and leaks oil until you cough up
exhaust. but perhaps it is for the best.
better to yearn for something only certain
parts remember than have your whole
body ache for something that has been lost.
i. open up like a moon-blooming flower
crossing statelines at midnight, i picked up a guy who told me
that if you eat enough marigolds, you turn into the sun, hovering
above an ocean that gleams like the sweat-soaked small of a back
where we could hear the chanting of om off in the distance
like the moment between dreaming and waking.
ii. fuck like phospherescence
it’s okay, you can hurt me, i want to tell him. he cups
my chin in his hands like an egg in a spoon. he kisses me and his
eyes are the color of lit televisions. he would never hurt me.
i graffiti myself on the ceiling afterwards, a glow-in-the-dark
picture of what could have been.
iii. close the world like a light
i will fold my hands into a brown bird to create an eclipse that will
shadow your heart, and feed you marigolds that will still shine
in the darkness. we will craft our own hallucinations out of glowing
filaments of loneliness and find each other there at the edge
of the world, keeping our eyes open as we fall into the universe.