A Conversation

Molding together two separate pasts.

We dig into skin and try to peel it back.

I want to see the bones because someone else has.

I want to see what you used to be.

But that isn’t there anymore.

How could you ask for me to show you that?

It’s buried for a reason.

Keep it that way.

What you find would break both of our hearts.

The skin they kissed died and flaked away.

I am new.

I am whole.

But we can see the scars on one another’s bodies.

The skin too dead to die again.

And we wonder.

What about those invisible.

What about our hearts and heads?

I pick at my lips so you kiss them for the first time every time.

A fresh start after all the screaming and cursing.

Something sinister lurking beneath the benign nervous habit.

Sometimes looking at you is like staring into the sun.

Stop.

Stop.

So bright.
Please, just become more dim.

Let me look at you.

I can’t see.

When I turn away the whole world is dark.

Get too close and it burns.

Too far and you freeze.

You can’t help it.

You don’t know that you’re the sun.

You feel like a pebble.

And you’re the river running over me.

And you’re going to turn me into sand.

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