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)

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