The lump in my breast is now growing visible.
I keep sleeping and saving my money.
Bathing and being polite; it’s the cruel hoax that I play on myself.
The lump in my chest is now invisible.
I keep waking, becoming transparent.
Counting and recounting the stars,
one of the jokes that I play with myself.
Brave up, come closer, and give me your number.
Give me your passion, your tempo, your zeal.
If you’re good, I’ll will you my charm
and point to the sky where the night rubs its belly.
Look there when I leave for a trace of a glimmer,
a soft lucid shimmer too lofty to see;
It will be what’s left of me after I’m gone.
Among the darkness and calm and the burden of night,
My ghost will sneak back and stink up your room.
You won’t wash me out of your system.
You can’t vow to never call out my name
as your tongue lies heaving in your sleepy dry mouth.
You won’t forget me.
I’ll be warm and wet in the thin winter air.
I’ll be the murmur, the secret like crazy.