the human body is a nightmare 
 She said, “the human body is a nightmare“
and I thought of my body embracing,
laying relaxed on the chair like a ghastly cartoon

The human body is a nightmare
and I thought of my body waking with blood between its legs,
stretching
decaying
I see my ancestors, ghost, and spirits
my body that asks, “how else should I behave—
when I know the body is the home for our shared stories?”

The human body is a nightmare
And I stick my finger in the wound
think of my body swaying like a stuffed animal 
occupying even mundane spaces in the most fascinating ways
the simultaneous disorderly beauty and sublime embarrassment of having a human body

She said, “the human body is a nightmare”
and in that moment I almost believed her
 
 
What I mean when I say that I love you
I want to unfold
like the raft that carried me through the deadliest storm
like your mother’s face
like the everyday mug
I want to unfold and be true before you
when I tell you that I love you
I mean that I love you infinity
I love you like it’s written in the stars
I love you like I can trust that what leaves will come back
like I didn’t meet the God of my seaside city on a dark night and watch all the stars burn out in the sky
like instead I looked up and saw a smoke signal shot into the sky
and it was you and the compass of your hands
I love you like although I am perched on the very edge I do not know how to plummet
I love you despite the prepossessing tragedy that we are given this one life 
and told nothing beyond
I love you like it’s my birthright,
like I wrote you in poems before I met you
I love you like a neither one of us will ever die