You’re still real, still a gorgeous mess of flesh.
You’re a businessman in the bathroom mirror.
You’re a barrier reef, an echo, an atom splicer
& debutante.
You let off spurts of steam
& crazy-person laughter.
You spill liquor on the rug.
You step on Christmas bulbs
& yell mazaltov!
You flicker in my stitched peripheral every night.
Let’s weigh ourselves down with uprooted rose bushes
& rubbers.
Let’s buy a watch together.
— G. Andrew Collins