by M Axton
I don’t take back my birth.
An end is not always undoing
Beginnings. I carry you with me
In the coincidence of my face.
The resemblance of my feet
To yours, crooked small toe
With magic shrinking toenail.
Let’s say I go back to your bedroom.
Let’s say I find you there, though
Neither you nor it exist in a shape
I recognize. Take me onto your lap.
Your bed with no sheets. If I cry
Over the purpled scars on your leg,
They’ll fold up into themselves.
You can quit wearing jeans in summer.
You may unkiss any mouth.
This is what my tears can do for you.
A bad love can’t be called a love;
Let’s imagine you taught me this
Some other way than how you did.