I wonder through the plasticity of my skin,
And the little cuts I’ve made to hide
My weapons of some minor destruction –
A smile here, to accentuate the frigidity in my eyes,
Bisous to remember
all the tender
ways in which I will never
The womandroidal trick of compressing
the distance across the Milky Way at its widest point
between my brown lips and his cheeks
he feels the wormhole acidic roller coaster rush of
everything he never knew
he could never know
and can never know
our goodbyes are always hasty.
My lover knows that I keep
tiny twin knives from the 26th century
in the slivered, removable skins of my palms
sometimes you’ll see them itch,
or clench into tiny fists,
they feel a bit like splinters
or the way people carry sandy beaches with them,
between their fingers,
after the first
I come from a different time,
I tell him seriously.
“We’re all people!” He insists, frantic and distressed.
I smile, and feel the frost
build on the inside curve of my corneas.
He shivers, and asks me if the temperature suddenly dropped,
and nervously looks at my fingers, hidden in my jean pockets
he does it suddenly –
takes my wrists in his pale fingers, and kisses each open palm,
nose tickling my wrist.
I jerk free, the silence too fast:
his lips scorch the plastic of my skin into the oily mixture
you find at car accidents, the horrific images of people who
know what it’s like to be welded alive.
There is a truth he shows me,
every time he kisses my vulnerabilities:
All he has to fear from me are shivers, and
the way I take his breath away.
All I have to fear from him are
slivers in my own skin, hiding knives
I might cut myself with
But I will remember – always remember – the dream-transmission
sent across space and time to catch brainwaves as
I slept one night:
Do not forget that ghosts still rattle through the metal of your bones,
Enough to haunt the living flesh around you, a lifelike reality
of a shadow-world you know your
lover feels under the surface of his own,
You must remember:
he is always more capable
than you will let yourself believe
of excising bone from metal, though you insist you are both
and he is always more capable
than your always-steady heart can feel,
of peeling your shadowprints from his skin.
So: do not fool yourself
And do not forget that part of you is grey machine,
that occasionally shimmers under your thin skin,
silver circles of fatigue under your eyes.