babyhead

1.36am
i'm hungry. i swallow into a belly
as hollow as a violin.

somewhere, there
are mountains made of leather

and right here, an origami flower you made for me. it stays
snug in my pocket; part of me, almost

like a muscle, a sinew
a part of this carcass that is folding
into itself.



in other places there are girls
round, unending, filling their bellies
because they don't love you anymore. i shouldn't know their faces

but i do

it's september 18th..
and in the heat a freckled shoulder
sealed my throat tight like an oyster

you are as close to me now
as my bones are to my skin.