On Evan M Collins

Let me try connecting the dots
(disembodied, free-floating thoughts):

Losing my fingers in sandy
curls;
My knotted knuckles penetrate
the scalp they're scratching;
I tickle your brain
from the inside.

I love these lines; proof
that you used to smile.
Make them deeper. Cut
through the disillusioned catatonic misery.
Kisses like scalpels;
make them deeper.

That warmth – a bottom lip, tongue,
who know or cares –
dragged along my neck,
nipple,
naval,
thigh;
roll me around inside your mouth
like sweet atoms of warm honey.

Faces buried in chests;
bitter truths muffled by breasts and body hair.
You liked who you were before. I
couldn't let myself say
how much I liked who you were in that moment;
is the you I love, the you
you hate?
Ears pressed against chests
hear simultaneous heart-breaks.