Monday, July 20, 2015

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

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