Awake
Love is tender.
I am not awake
in the spacious day.
I call myself tomorrow.
My body knows how to bend.
My body knows how to dance.
Clawing at my limbs
that know limericks
and watch the dawn.
My cathartic throat
caves in on itself.
How I know.
How I am not the rhymes.
I have misaligned what is mine.
There is a beginning of new days
beneath my fingernails.
and these toes
know hearts like mine
break
in want of night.