I feel you in my skin
in the starched sheets I sleep in,
in the slosh of the water that I drink as it drips down my throat.
You’re in the callouses on my hands,
in the scratch of guitar strings when my fingers slide down,
in the chill of my toes on a cold tile floor.
I feel you there in all those places
and many places more.
You’re the bruise by my hip from the corner of a desk.
You’re the chip in my broken nails.
I feel you in the strands of my hair
when they’re dry and blowing past my eyes,
when they’re wet and plastered to my face,
when they’re clipped and feathered on the floor.
I feel your weight pressed heavy there against the wood frame of my door.
You’re the thud of my pulse.
You’re the smoke on my clothes
that trickled out of my mouth
when I told you that the secret to pain is in a person’s bones.
It’s in the shape of their teeth that chatter when they speak.
It’s on the tip of their tongue when they lick their cracked lips.
Pain lives in your blood and every cell in your skin.
It looms over your bed like ghosts in the dark
-Until you turn on the lights.