Poems are dead flecks of skin I
want people to take home
After a reading last year Jordan told me
he likes my poems but they are only
skin cells
So Jordan wants my blood
wants to syringe my heart
and keep it in a bottle
That’s what I did
then he said I want to be inside you
So he wants to wear my skin
A me hanging in a closet limp
and lifeless A clothesline
of me and me and me
to be opened like a coin
purse and slip in
Yes. Jordan says
he wants to eat me
(originally published in Eunoia Review, Winter 2020)