It’s the ways our tongues get folded, stealing
away my speech. It’s open mouths writing
letters, lipped words placed softly in ears
precisely. It’s shadows that aren’t what they
used to be and my fetish for transcendence.
It’s easier. These days it’s slipping through
flesh which we know can be done in silence.
It’s knowing this is not how you’ll have
imagined it. It’s not dark except for the door
we’re caught behind and my room’s heavy
curtains hung drawn, sad, apart for more than
mere sunlight. It’s glass making a show
of transparency while I learn the ways to be
opaque. It’s shrinking as you fill the space
I leave between my skin and bone. It’s waiting
for you to cover me, your skin a fine-spun web.
Flesh first appeared in Issue 3 of Bare Fiction Magazine (July 2014).