The Wound

Hello
is this death
or rebirth?

your mouth?
is somewhere lost in
thought

& i am already
slipping

in

not through skin,
no,
through the door
of yes
ushered on
breath

touch me
like a question you want
to live inside

(oh god,
did you feel that?)

when the embrace of you
envelops the want of me
& says it's
home

nothing
prepares
for this:

the delicious tear
of closed things
learning how
to weep

not gentle.
not cruel.
just...

the first
thrust
(we bloom
wrong
on purpose)

every nerve
sings some
fucking hymn

fire climbs inside
your walls
your walls
good god,
your everything

you are swallowing me
so slow
i forget
my own
beginning

(i think your body
is a trapdoor
into god)

but quieter.
and wetter.
and made
for this
exact
crime

& there it is

the exhale
you didn’t plan

but meant
entirely

& me?

i’m gone.
gone.

still
inside you,
somehow.