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in this transaction
think of me
as just a body

I do.
my clothes unravel
to the floor
a spent tourniquet
reptilian inkling
of the afterlife

forgive me.
my hands have not evolved
past the sense
of metal into metal
glass into skin
skin drawn to a veil

blood
in the memory
memory in the blood

yes.
you can touch
the scars
share my anaesthesia

I will watch
us from the ceiling

for love
has no body
and nobody is safe
from love

This poem appears in


Pass it Along

© Brendan Bonsack
April 2016