I have a convulsing, knees to chest
yearning to hold you in bed
my arms clutching your chest
fearfully clinging to the part of you
that's long dead.

I stand before you in underwear
and socks:
an apology for embarassing you,
allowing you to take your inventory
of every mark, every fold, every shadow
that you could own

and I know you just see the flaws
because that's who you are,
how you are
and what we are--
we're just all the bad
the mold at the top of the grade A amber

and when we boil down
that's all that's left.