WET

cloudy lips
leaving dewdrops on my fingertips
asking if they can hold me tighter
closer
wherever they wish
i say to them:
“my skin was made for the ocean”
and I wrap myself around their every motion, pull myself closer
closer
closer


ANXIETY

we walk through corridors at night
the dark
the light
your hand apart from mine
sometimes I break the rhythm and the silence, and I whisper:
“is my pain invisible to you?” from a place deep within my stomach
no sleep was left for me that night
no answers
no reconciliation
no keys for the door