by Valerie Muensterman

Inspired by Bergman

You and I, these frail interchangeable bodies
my skin your mouth my hands your ass except

the part of you that leaks is me
shivering on rocks like a kid.

It’s true, I’m the lucky one.
Your burnt-stylish mole stops no

twigged sand nose line toward my
mouth, sorry like silent animal tracks.

Always, fear is learned; people met spiders
in fists of dirt until we found a teacher.

My nose in mirrors sickeningly starts to
resemble yours. If you break it, I’ll kiss

your husband, or mine, or anyone’s really –
can’t I lie in the sand, for once, like lack?

To compromise faces renders symmetry;
to compromise souls renders waste.

Grind this sand between your palms
at the temperature of lightning, and you’ll get

beer glass broken from my blood. Drink and
you’ll drain the old self out the bottom.

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