Bleeding Acrylic
I saw the indents of his palms—
which is where he accidentally lives,
and he asked me to say something.
Then I thought
I was a kid, again.
Singing on seesaws.
“I believe I can fly.”
Dreams are here, surreal, bleeding acrylic.
Bowling shoes on, but I don’t bowl.
Doe-eyed and not understanding.
It’s very specific.
I’m going to breathe.
I can still breathe in my dreams.
I observe how love has taken to life
like tightening takes to stubborn bolts.
I’m now a baby with my bottle on the counter.
Everything I want
is away from me.
I am left with loose bolts
at my feet,
unscrewing everything in sight,
unleashing the fading night
and growing out my limbs.
I feel the light creep in,
ready to bleed blood
if I should bleed again.