Paint there’s a hesitation before we come to know the body of the one we love. in it the heart grows lives locked behind a cell of bones and paints itself blue as mirage. blue as the tides that settle before. and we are stained in it the lung spreads out her hands as if to catch a bit of air that great breath unfed by cotton-stuffed surroundings firm and frequent inhalations. in it stomach swims in the forest we’ve grown. nestles into verdant tumors hiding intestinal tumors hiding towards the stained center valve expanding up
expanding up
until the neck’s final growth. the one the IV tempered with the one the fingers wrapped around and screamed towards a god outside to sky to light to ground to gale to thorns of bougainvillea find his body find my own in us
figments of our hands before they met appear and we are stained
| E. Toms 32
