i. of leaves
she pulls her skin off
before she goes to bed
each night. she tells me
it's because she doesn't want
to hurt it when she dreams.
ii. of chains
she cuts her toenails
a little shorter every night
until they are nubs on her
skin. she tells me it's because
she doesn't want to tear
her silk sheets.
iii. of storms
she bites her lips open
in the morning when
the sun has not yet risen.
she tells me it's because
she doesn't believe
in luck with without some pain.
iv. of shade
she says i am rough,
in the evenings when
she holds my neck.
she tells me it's because
she thinks she needs it
when she is fragile.
v. of stones
she holds plastic bags
over her head at midnight,
when i cry. she tells me
she's sorry, she just
wants to breathe.
vi. of wings
she holds hands with
the candle smoke at
the kitchen table at
noon. she tells me it's
because fire is an
old friend.
vii. of teeth
she sits with a bottle
in the evenings, when i come
home. she tells me
she doesn't want to
lie anymore.
