Sometimes, we are shadow puppets haunting the walls in a well-lit, empty room.
Sometimes, we are shaking hands in quiet darkness, hungry and unscrupulous with need.
This is not what I grew up thinking love would be.
How your name could sound like a curse on my tongue.
We keep all these nights like Petri dishes,
all these small wonders we chalk up as failures.
I keep track of our misdeeds only to set them aflame
and carry them in cupped hands to the sea.
Let the salt water cleanse our sins,
let the shore put them to rest.
Sometimes, we are lovers busy caving in each other’s ribs, looking for safe places to bury ourselves.
Sometimes we are secret creatures that only recognize each other’s teeth and claws.