I bury my sorrow in a hole I cut

into your side,

just above the bone.

I bury it like a secret

I don’t want you to know,

but to feel—

to translate into

something with teeth.

You know where all

the emptiness is.

You know how to cradle

the sun and all its

citrus heat.

I want it all—the sour

and the sweet,

the hot and the cold.

I want to do what I feel

and also what I’m told.

You want it all—

life and all its death,

the burn and the freeze,

to breathe, but also

to hold your breath.

We want it all.

I want you to kill me

because I am in love

with you, and in that,

I was always dead.

And I want you to hold me

because I am in love with you,

and your arms are a grave—

as soft as a bed.