gifts i accept from your mouth:
acceptance, charity, understanding, story.
i do not know what to say to you but i know that you will listen while
my errant tongue spits out ire and fear and self-protection
faster than your warmth can disarm me.
for you i might be beautiful, who could say?
for you i might be peace or solidarity or support,
or produce some amalgam between your mouth and mine:
i should be so careful, to capture you in this way.
secrets i cannot even whisper to myself
insist on writhing out over the breakfast table,
wet and trailing seed as they arc toward your hands.
they are limp for you, a relaxed twining
of the worst of me, a seeking of stillness and rot.
and you will only listen, and tell me i am wrong--
you will not notice these entrails
till the heart of me, red and steaming, is laid out
before you like a lie i couldn't keep.