On certain days

body conspires against pen

Such is the unpredictability

of shame’s conjugal visits
On these occasions,

Sometimes I think to ask:

Have I told my hands today

how well they have taken to carrying?

Thanked my thighs for walking,

and living to tell the tale? 
It is in these moments

that I must pour myself into mirrors

using an inside-smile

The kind of love that

coats the mouth                   and

warms the throat
To seal the offering

I fill a bath with incantations

Scatter petals for the voyage

and

make sure to soak in

every

last

drop

of courage

it takes

to be

alone,
afloat, 
unfinished
When conducting such rituals,

it helps to abandon verse altogether

and instead:

make yourself cum

like you really mean it