one. i open up my body, whole and spit-shined eager and inside there is only a mouth. the mouth says you are not an easy person to love. curious, i reach into this mouth and pull out the tongue. i make the tongue say it again, and again. you are not an easy person – you are not an easy person to – and it’s so silly looking. this little flip-flopping thing in the palm of my hand. i show it to everyone. my friends. the guy at 7-11. on the morning you leave i hold it right up to your face. so close you practically choke on it. so close that it practically becomes your tongue. and everyone i show it to just looks at me and laughs. of course, they say, of course this is true. two. this body wears crazy well and so unlike a man. like well-sewn black lace and pink moscato. this body lit the votive candles above the bathtub and forgot. they burned all night. the house still stands. small miracle. this body fell asleep and woke up with a kitchen knife in the bed. again. i am off somewhere in a swirl of blue silk slow and watching this body. my body. i brought a knife to gunfight, but i am the knife. i am all blade. three. i wake to my phone glowing are you awake still? and in the dizzy smear of sleep i say, come be bodies with me. he arrives and i meet him at the door, lock fingers, lead him to my room. i kiss him and say i don’t believe in truth anymore.i kiss him and say i am paralyzed by hope. i kiss him and say i’m going to break you open and find the butterflies. and beneath that the concrete. and beneath that the rich dirt. i kiss him and say there is something in me that cannot be healed. there is something in me needs breaking open. ( independent and unaffiliated original character, )