PERCHED PARCHED BUTTERFLY

When You Come for Me

I'm washing my walls in love tonight

    before you get home.

I don't know of a life without you,

'cause that's not even living.

I have been repurposed. I am new

like a

belly full of hot pink tulips.

In the east wind, the sky is low like a low.

The palette of the day meditates while

I teach the tigers within me to

    clench up around you and hand that friction

over.

You moan, oh, you moan

at the Frankenstein-ing.

I learned from your lessons the

kind of touch that

spends its nights turning into

velvet, the kind you

ask for and

    mean as

you whimper at this new nowness of us.

And it comes from within you

and never despite you.

I'll never have to apologize again.

The accident is not an accident.

Once I was a spider.

Now I lack the lackings.

I used to think that nobody would want

    my kind of sins.

But are you a no one to this

virgin hunger?

Shove me into your writings.

Make me your poem

as I wait around the corners

for your

wings in

every city.