my god, when did I get so cagey about flesh & for that matter when did flesh get so cagey about you; I can’t even see you anymore for all this meat but this image, I just can’t shake it, your three-in-the-morning crawling into bed, shucked of your skin, and for a while we roll around without our rinds on. & if & if we should grow like seeds, sap pulsing in clouds, still I’d know your still-small self. are you there, god, I’m looking for you in them, and if it’snot you I don’t want to know