You ask what I want
like it ever mattered.

I fear this blank page
much less than what I keep
hidden. There is a

tongue in a mouth that keeps
itself in check. There
is a heart lodged in a

throat that avoids my
calls. There is skin beside
my nails that doesn’t

need to be bitten but
fingers fit into
this mouth that I try to

keep from shaking.
What matters most is that
I’m the face of God,

and we’re here in this pink
house that’s only as
holy as I make it

within viscera
that encapsulates a
place we call a home.

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