All my worlds are here

in this prism

of rainbows.

The spools of each of my lives

are neatly ordered

by color,

some threads nearly worn through.


I think this is love

some soft furred ear

or the touch of your fingers

on my sternum.

I can feel my edges

right there at my illiotibial band

my soleus,

and down the stegosaurus

ridges of my spine.


This knife isn’t quite sharp enough

to slice off the nubbin ends

of my fingers,

or say, you, out of my head.

Thankfully, there is only

a dusty hollow

where you used to be,

in my heart.