in the spirit of nobody being here on fridays anyway, here is some bad faux photoshopping and (gasp!) poetry.
i imagine you in a car crash,
broken glass mimics the constellations
of freckles on your eyelids.
my body closes in on itself, spastic,
the space around me inflamed and pixelized.
i smell salt water; tears, cold sweat.
your curled body, a fiddlehead,
limp as hydrus, burnt out, twisted,
cool to touch,
my tongue is thick
a mouthful of raw eggwhite.
i spit another and
another, till it’s just the taste.
my chest fills with stars, my core
gravity so strong not even light
i feel i may disappear from view.