i want to unfold you.

i want to, i want to

tell you what it is i have found

up on exiling those

leaves of wet

cabbage:

after

the soft cells &

veins & tissue like

blue & intestines have been

unwound, stilling

the nerves, i want to tell you

i do

i

want to speak to you

the way my skin puckers with the swell

of water, the taut

motion of exhalation

i do

i want to, i want to

unfold. i want to unfold

you

like now

i could say

no,

but look

& motion to some where out side

of the picture, i could

turn the tables on the sun i could

run the colors to

sleep i could chew through to

blood/ fat/

meat & i

could chew through to

where

you are essential but

i do not want to, i do not want to, i want

to

undo you from

the sheets: your feet, i want to

find either

the line of separation or

the line that closes you together;

to

compare & contrast

the texture

i want

to tell you,

hey, did you know

your skin is cotton

i

want to

sew this to your fingers

knot the twigs like

twine

show you

fire

i do.

i want to

live under the city, i want to say

to you we

are sober as stones.

how both of us think of the eyes

of potatoes, how both of us think

of laughing.

i want to unfold you

like numbers on my tongue, i want to

calculate you like bread

i want to

curl you to dry.

i do &

those dimples in your palms.

i think i could trace out the history

of the world in them.

i think i could.

if i gouged out the roots

of the buildings, if i tore up the train

tracks.

i think i could tell time by them.

i think i could.

.

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