Pick Me Idiot

Bent over the sharp edge of urge I snap like Adam’s ivory rib & grow monstrous in the direction of your weakening light, then run; delight

in the sucking sound of my flat feet in moist loam. Think of what may grow here, name your favorite root & I am tubing in cursive beneath you; a goodbye letter you’ll never read. I can’t remember,

did I tell you I hate myself or did you forget while I pretended to sleep, pale belly up, tender like good soil, smoldering core like compost. Yes, I could decompose at your feet if you’d just let me.