Wrighter

his elbow's carved from alabaster.
you probably knew. the surprise was mine.
to touch and thumb-scratch, filling nail white white. and then to
gaze upward -- that face -- his -- calm and
-- he doesn't mind. do you? you don't mind.
your hair, perfect. your chest, perfect. your hands,
perfect. and then me, in front of you, and --
why am i not this thing i imagine i am, could be, want? --
us. what are us? this space, you say, channeling marx
sans engels but mit und du. mir. uns. translating and transforming until
rocks fall from your eyes. not tears. just rocks.
rocks falling. rocks
and sand.
walking away, i use my index nail to remove your knee from my thumb.
rock falling. rocks and sand.
and i find my own hardness.