your mouth has put me on hold,
and your armpits have terrified me
like the warden in a prison for boys
and your breath, intermingling with mine,
has clanged like chains in my lungs.
Two decades and counting
and I have got so
that I’m so afraid of the cold,
only your body can warm me.
Domesticity – there’s no known cure.
If you wrote a poem,
it would likely read the same as mine.
A life, so deserted by its legs,
it’s incapable of moving.
A circulatory system doing just enough
to keep you languid.
Imagine if we didn’t love each other.
Imagine a petal and a paperclip
dropped into a stagnant pool of water.