Here is another amazing poem from my love, Anis Mojgani.
When next she comes to kiss you, wrap yourself
in white paper. Like dead fish. Like the smell of the sea.
Sleep on crushed ice. Spill apples. Do not dream of orchards.
Throw blue and white bowls to the bright floor. Walk barefoot
over the tiles. Paint them red with your skin. The inside of you
is a big country. Gypsy your chest. Caravan it across. Sharpen
your suitcase. Knife the night. Watch as it bleeds. Fill the gutters
with meteorite hearts. Use their cold beauty to keep your organs
from turning. Sleep on crushed ice.
When she comes to kiss you, wrap yourself in white paper or
white sheets and pull her close to stain whatever you imagined
was the thing still keeping you clean. Crash your body over hers.
Seastorm your wrists. Shipwreck your intentions. Shipwreck
your past. The future has wet and dry sand. Make your bed in it.
Clutch the memory with both hands. Push it over her chest.
Rub it until it dissolves. Find the holes. Badger your hands
under her skin. The bumps on her heart
will language themselves.