cinema love—

on this soft

            square of foam.

a casket-

            preparer,

making me

            so hopeless.

i feel it

            in my fingers,

grayscale

            lips and grabs

pop on

            their prints,

swirling.

            a tiny

body

            waiting for

water, a

            vine snaked

around

            the television.

i want

            love,

wonder how

            it feels. a

crime scene,

            perhaps.

anything

            fake because

real kisses

            are not in

my script.

            i love

how you

            speak the

lines. say

            them to

my legs,

            my breast,

the sand-

            colored

fingers

            with which

I write

            this

for you.