to put the parallel lines decorating my wrists

like outdated wallpaper to use, i would peel

the scar tissue like the rind of a blood orange,

link the massacred pieces of myself into a chain,

and then throw it 300 miles right to the foot of your bed.

if there was a way to shift cities and collide hemispheres

until the stretch of miles between our aching bodies tightened,

i would do whatever it takes to bring you closer to me.

i would show up on your doorstep like an unexpected hurricane

and you would draw me in like a high tide. your porch light would

flicker like a fake smile and we would twist ourselves into foreign

tongues in each other’s mouths.

you collected a basket full of skinned knees and

repeated apologies when you extinguished all of

my house fires with your bare hands.

my worn heart cannot fill the holes in yours.

your rough palms cannot mend the blisters on mine.

the train tracks cannot cover our mistakes this time.