taking the bunny eared
antennae and cut the thigh to
the bone, stuffing the wound with
crumpled printed words.
i peel through the layers
to decide what should go on top;
what you should see;
what will you want in your skin.
i pray for your fingers licking
my uglies all the pain all the
past but are you even reaching?
how far are your bones stretching?
i wonder if i pull like the moon
or if you've carried in the right half
of gray matter to make it seem.
be my tide and with
eyes that i cut wide see
me true and don't erode.