Less Bone, Less Breath

Perhaps I’m too porous for this world,

I was born with my soul turned inside out and every nerve ending exposed.

All my nerve endings blink and my skin recoils from it.

I long for the physics of warmth,

for a world where grief can’t bite me,

where grief, like a butcher, can’t peel back my skin’s resolve.

This life is a violence.

I try to feel less corporeal,

I try to feel less bone, less breath.

My longing, a souvenir, is sitting like a lit match clenched between my teeth,

and God help the one who tries to blow it out.