this not-having-you bigger than the having-you, photo of your face a religious text, a cosmic absence, my nauseous cavity stomach, my rotten insides, i imagine you calling me baby and laugh i imagine you calling me baby and cry i think of feeling like nothing in front of you, ball of yarn to paw at , pick it up and make something of it, make something of me . think : is the gentlest hand always a negligent one ? think : rabid hands on her neck and uuuuuuuuuuuuuuup the kitchen wall ! but your hands on my neck and sudden-drop , touch me touch me touch me touchme, wet & warm violence, tender violence, kiss me on the cheek after . . . your fingers cold in mine, blood running thick and sluggish, i am twitching and frantic, hot on proving myself, steam-engined. i only make it worse. always make it worse . reminder that us is always imaginary, and better that way, say goodbye loud enough that i can hear it, loud enough that i believe it.