my trench is empty

I foresee my valentine humour getting worse and worse each year…. much love to the archaeology lovers on tumblr from moi :)

bodies of water

if bodies are water,
can we use osmosis,
transmit words across
gradients of our
deadened nerves?

the channels are closed,
and never is there an impulse
not carried out by a spine
stretching vertebrae
by vertebrae
as my fingers
brush the floor—

can you feel bumps
like ridges,
fingers entering
caverns, chasms
between

and mountains
steaming under the sea
where i imagine us hidden
from the sun’s rays

my first love was skinny
jealously i called her
a stick, her spine
retreated inward
a long valley
down the
mid
dle
of her back

i craved the bones
protruding through
skin, wanted a cave
in my collarbones and
that basin in my hips

to hold my share of the ocean—
for all my emptiness
i will need a trench