I will die
laced with pastel
and breathing it too,
50’s, nonpareil-laced traces of what could have been more,
shoulda-coulda-woulda pounding as my heartbeat,
singing duets with the savage bones in my body
(bones I cannot change,
bones I never could have changed,
bones still in their sockets,
bones never broken).
I will shrivel into you, I know,
and when you sing my threnody
I will still be hiding there.
I will fill the space in your stomach
and you’ll never feel without me,
You will never be hungry
Pacify your anger, my dear.
There’s nothing to be mad about;
I know what I’ve said no to.
I know what opportunities I’ve hurled at sunsets
because there was a fire in my gut,
a fire I didn’t need.
It’s always already there, hanging in the sky.
There’s no empathy for you to feel, my love.
Kiss me one more time.
Life isn’t meant to be resolved.
I know that now.