I was an anonymous atom until the summer
he popped me like a balloon. I walked around
with a bomb in my chest; fell asleep every night
to the tick-tock of mini-promises. I fell like a piano
from a rooftop party, while he sang for every hooker/
waitress there. But I wanted to crawl under his skin
and spray-paint my name on his lungs so that I could
surf on his breath. He saw straight through my
cellophane eyes and anchorlessly-pink mouth.
He loved me like a sneeze. He squeezed my hand
so tight the nail polish peeled off. I played hopscotch
in his Modigliani eyes. We would cut class and make
love in pea-fields. Sometimes he would count
the scars on my thigh. One day, he licked my
hipbone, I exploded. I couldn’t find all my pieces
so I ordered some more. The clouds didn’t deliver
them immediately so I had to start talking in fractions,
start dieting my emotions. The night he came home
tasting like mandarins, I knew someone else had gone
swimming in his mouth. I sat in the pea-field for hours,
scraping my ceramic mind with spoonfuls of grey sky.
I threw my last confession at him like a dart at the wrong
target. He shrugged: the sharpest insult. I laughed for a long time
after he left. When I finally slept, I did crosswords of my dreams in ink.