More often these days, I find my fingers absent-
mindedly grazing near your epidermic quarters
nails brushing the thin beginnings of your body
which is also, of course, my body.
Over two decades, you made yourself
comfortable in the crescent of my chin, your crest
stitched in skin since I was made
airborne by accident by my brother
then five and hugging me
too close to the bookshelf, letting go
too soon and leaving me behind
a wound which ages
later we discover never
fully closed.
Elusive bitch, you are
there and then you are not
never enough to notice until you are
long enough
to be
detached.
Oh sweetie
stop trembling, you knew
from the start this was going to happen.
Your killer was named before you
even began to read
this poem. This will only hurt
a little, at first, and then
we can talk again
later when you’ve grown
again, just enough
to be a bother
just below the brink
of me.