When I die, drain my
blood, mix with clay, and sculpt a
man that you can love.
I would that my lover were weightless.
I'd wear her inverted. When the mood
strikes me, I raise her pelvis to my lips.
Lying next to my lover, I use a knife to cut her
belly open from her navel to sternum. I crawl into
her and situate myself between diaphragm and lung.
In that crevice, I listen to muscles stretch with each breath.
The day I stopped believing in myself, I stopped believing in a god. Praying to the shade of my lover, I whisper her name to a sleeping ceiling--a blank slate to imagine holy.
Alice for Every Star
When my lover left me, an entire civilization fell. The only ones who noticed were a baker's dozen madmen who bit off the tips of each other's fingers to document our sexual history. There have never been enough apologies to raise the dead.
© F. Omar Telan