This bed is a ship

This bed is a ship is a sporadically updated internet journal, 
a home for odd scraps of writing.

more unfinished thoughts.

-

Sometimes names are changed to spare the innocent

but we are as guilty as your sheets, Alexei

with your name like a poem and your eyes like wet lips.

 I saw a razorblade fall from your pocket like an eyelash

your body shedding skin.

Everyone’s in love with you:

the girl whose cheek is wet with my spit, 

the immigrant whose belt I split in two.

We cannot catch you. You are a ghost

and so we rub our tragic mouths together.

The night before you left, you took my picture.

I will never see the print.

Sid BrancaComment