to hold and shit

What would the world look like if

I were to

cradle you

in the deepest creases of my palms?

Would it become bearable?

Because most days I can’t even bring myself

to eat.

My stomach is shrinking.

It’s digesting my heart.

And I gotta admit, I’m alright with that.

Maybe the acids will melt away the part

that cares so much for you.

I haven’t been able to find it,

and trust me, I’ve been looking.

With these mediocre poems and half-assed prays

with no direction

except up,

and sometimes I wonder if they are even going that way.

Are you here with us?

Are you hearing me?

I’m lost. I’ll admit it.

And I don’t admit to much.

I’ve learned to follow my tongue out of most situations,

and if not, my smile

and my hips.

It’s all in the hips.

And yes, I’m talking about

sex.

And how, for some reason, I don’t want

to bed you, I just want

to have you, like

to hold and shit.