We dumpsterdive for canker sores and
settle on romantic evenings–
alone with stench.
Tape recording obliterated-esophagus rock,
our limbs dance without rhythm–
they don’t have eyes, and think no one sees them.
Clear tape holds our eyelids closed
but we can struggle to see a glimmering slit
enough to want to see things clearly.
Baleful pins and needling,
the numb feeling is normal without blood flow
and when it finally arrives, it’s cold.
We desperately try friction.