A virgin, I carry an empty: an accumulation of space. A sign around my neck: the core of my body is an untouched baby’s crib.
I incubate something else, a sputtering leak drips: rainwater hitting the roof of my mouth. A kerosene pool swells, overflowing the crib. When I hold my breath, I hear it sloshing, lapping, laughing against my walls like children in a tub, bubbles. I carry the ocean in me: endless, untouched, dark blue — never seen a star. be mine, unformed the longing spilled from my gutter while I was buying complacent conversation, a silent robbery, it stole from my grip. My bones ached to disown the secret wish, ringing in ears, staining through thoughts. But a gravitational pull had formed and my axis tilted, inclined, towards anyone who could strike a match near enough to my mouth. So I shove air down my throat in case a flame is offered.
All of my breathy spoonfuls are making my seafloor’s waves wild: restless. Aquiver, no longer guileless, I linger, alone except for my gut’s archive of hologram-daydreams longing to be punctuated and drowned in substance: waiting for a light.