Dont Want To Wash Off

Dont Want To Wash Off

sweat like a thick mask on my face—

or drying paint, skin burnt, unwashed, too tight

if i shower the beads of sweat over our dying

love would wash away—not this ache

no, that is like a beetles carved path thru

the bark of an ash tree, not quite indelible,

but lasting long as any posted notice—

and i wish you wld trespass me

i would be your private beach

you could stick to me like sand

i dont want to wash off

that you would take me up, and dunk

me in the cold ocean like i was also your

grief, or like i was your child, with-fever