Cover Me In Rag And Bones
I’m inarticulate like an action figure
but my skin is made from the tin
of an empty soup kitchen; charity
begins with your hands.
To close the chasm between us
in bed, I roll out like a doughy bridge
my farmer’s tan arms wrapping
around you like beams.
I look at the last picture of us touching.
I can make my shoulders blossom in sighs.