so this is what it feels like.
my left leg cleaves to my right, my forearm to my bicep,
thick thighs to the plastic chair.
everyone has felt this.
grief, curiosity, lack of grief; grief.
everyone has taken our pair of tweezers,
peeled back the rawest folds of skin.
and yes, we are all the same cruel child,
the magnifying glass on an anthill, or skinning a screaming rabbit.
we poke it; we find when it hurts, where it hurts.
you and I, we watch to see where the shoulders start to shake.
prod at the face -- draw back the naked eyes.
point to it: exhibit A, judge.
here -- here is humanity --
muscle shorn from its bone,
organs tumescent, greedy,
begging for the last --
here, love, this is what it takes.
my absolution, now,
your last gift to me.
twenty years: the same sweetness,
the jasmine and honeysuckle, choking.