When my thoughts
collapse, I can still
feel your breath and
small fingers, practicing
power chords on the tendon
frets of my forearm. What was
blue for me turned red
for you. I promise that
my first tattoo will be
a polychrome apology.
Everything’s gone
too far and everything’s
gone too fast. And by
the time that you return
to me, to read, my skin
will’ve sloughed and
rotted into the grass.
(1997)
