You will dig me up from the earth
with only your trembling soft fingers. You will touch me
and I will feel pieces of myself fall apart
and suddenly I will feel barely there.
You will pick me up and you will cook me.
I will hope that I taste awful
and I will hope that you choke on my eyes
and my ears and my arms riddled
with white lines
and I will hope you still love me.
You will cradle my roasted hands, my
shoulders. You will brush my fused-together eyelashes
with only your trembling soft fingers and your gentleness
will beg me to forgive you
but I will not be able to because
I will be dead.
You will walk into the river and you won’t come out and
I will not follow.
You will not flail or hesitate.
Your trembling soft fingers will be swallowed by water.
But that is all
far, far away.
For now, you and I
are soft and warm.
your soft fingers are mine to stop from trembling.