craving connection as I silently spin. to the Samsung washing machine song. appearing when

                                                                                                  the next cycle

                                                                                      begins?

          ‘r

                         o

                                     u

                         n

           d

          a ‘bout there.

                                   edging collision

                                   like a death obsessed dominant.

                                   circling right back to the start, I reinflate my lungs.
this is child’s play, you see? grown-ups laugh in deep tones with dimpled, grey faces. glowing

brighter. spectres highlighting a prize out of reach.

                                                TO BE SOMETHING.

moon of a moon

not enough to dream upon.

almost celestial body

licking sacred water but unchristened.

                                                TO BE MEANINGFUL.

if moons are satellites what clasps at her breast?

             born without a purpose so hands and knees absorb the filth.

             grasping at dying promises even after they have winked away.

desiring damage                                                                                            to make her

                                                            WHOLE.
Poppy, bloom for me in a violent way.