I vomited until there was nothing in me. I called to him
and he crawled inside
the covers, told me this
will pass, and parted my legs.
*
He said, I’m joking with you, and split the curtains
down the center. What did I expect? To believe
is one thing, and to burn, its brother.
I kept a pile of coins on the nightstand. The sun danced
across the metal surfaces. The coins fidgeted
then clinked on the floor as the bed seized
*
beneath us. I vomited:
if I had the mettle,
if the curtains of my ribs parted,
if I unlatched my heart’s coin purse,
if the pulsing light inside my chest—
all I had were conditions.
*
I walked his apartment’s
parking lot; I raised my arms,
and the sun shone through
the circle I had become.
In his bedroom, shirt open, chest hair
like bolts of electricity between lapels
*
he called to me. I crawled into bed and lapped my tongue
across him until his body shook like iron
shavings around this magnetic tip.