The Man I Love is Dying

Still and long on the couch
he looks about one hundred pounds
and says, I struggled to trust others but
all along, ha ha
my body was the one

I wait until you’re sleeping
to bite the blankets
in the back bedroom
mad, and manic and then
stopping to listen —
are you still breathing?

I remember my head
flicking away right
before coming, I said by accident
I want to have your babies

It’s why I’ve been begging you
since we started making love
to use me
kindly, you said,
I want to give it to you

You see
that I am a round house
to pass through blood and
a skull still soft inside me

the canal a hallway leading
to a back bedroom
where I can’t even cry,
with your ugly way of wilting

You cannot control
what happens to your come
or how to save
those witnesses to our life

And death expels the arches in thought
jettisoned like spunk.


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