inches from the nowhere drain
hound the ones with rounded edges
it took a year for it / to die, shelled and / alone in a far corner of / the unkempt living room.
in thick, tar-fused junes / we purpled shins on bike pedals
descend and dissolve
because I don’t / know how to know / it any other way
i’ve grown feral.
the one with the match / gets no credit for the heat.
I rose with the sun / and the swift love
skin to skin / blood and breath.