My two delicate hums. 

My pair of soft assemblies.

 

My want is a canary rattling the morning’s thin frame, 

the steady breath of droplets following months of bad weather, 

two small plates dismembered on the hardwood.

 

Despite evidence, I think love should indent the self in some way. 

My breasts, the swollen lunch of mosquitos. 
 

Sometimes, 


the crave is too much for one body. 

I take my woman pills with an apathetic edge because I’m brutally aware 

of what they won’t fix. 
 

My imagined daughter. My imagined son. 

Please forgive my circumstance. 

Copyright © 2024 by Spencer Williams. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on July 29, 2024, by the Academy of American Poets.