To Drink

The stains it left on my body leech
the artistry out of me, chafe
at my skin from the inside, brand
my face with a number, leave me
here for dead. And while

suspended between life and
the chance to live without you, I
ricochet between your palms
with no life at all. There’s
nothing here to excavate, no breath.

No lips, no lies, no justification
for the way these words rise up
to my chest and stop when
you give me a few foreign tears
to swallow. “Rub your throat,
baby, gulp down your pride
and let the breath and the heartbeat
drown with them.”

So I drink you in with half-assed prayers.

I drink for the way the house sounds
when the sound of your unease
floats away. I drink for the smell
of your skin in the morning
before you have the chance to
come clean. I drink when
you need me to, when I can feel
your cries swell up in my lungs
and escape my body in sighs—

I drink until I can’t drink any longer.