I know my problem. When I enter a room
I am always looking for the door. I stiletto
into ice. I open every grave. I speak honey
-lace, lattice. When I’m here, I’m knotted
gardenias, a black hex. A dinosaur flexing
its tail feathers. Fever with a body stitched
inside. Here, semicolon. Here,
semicolon. There, semicolon. This is how
the night steals my silhouette. A pair
of wrists. A god of flood and porcelain.
Listen to that hum. In this one, I’m unloved.
My mouth sticky. A string of teeth, salt pearls.
A theft of flowers pushing up in the front yard.