Last night, I dreamt I was tricked into a suicide pact.

The Skin is, Now--Dardin Appropriation Attempt #1

i.
I ache too. Dull and too constant in green. You don’t expect blue: a patriot might. But it grew when you graved the Japanese flag in the skin of my forearm. Blue rays red at angles
still, only green

ii.
It is red and it is rising. There is no birth, but still life. A throbbing green where you planted for them only I grew up in the third space. I dug to the reasons When I knew you were leaving Kept whole and cornered The skin is, now all rays and angles


iii.
There is no glide. But we search for the vowels in A void. There, in the green speech patterns of silicon mouths, an active voice. You count A.I. I think “Oh, You!”

iv.
I found a secret constellation in your forearm and oiled my lips on purpose and woke up green. It was new when it moved east in my cheek, my speech changed
but I said I’ll see you still.