I left my deconstructed self
in tidy piles on your still-warm bed sheets,
not a bone out of place;
every piece of me sorted and stamped
so at least you’d see
what you were getting yourself into.
You gave me your fingernails;
the stardust beneath them
leaving gritty, sparkling trails on my palms
that made my hands tingle:
half panic, half desire.
I sometimes wondered how we’d fit together;
both of us quiet and awkward and luminous,
collecting kindling like belly button lint
in all our empty spaces,
just waiting to start ourselves on fire.
I hope you find a safe place to shine.