How much of me is my body? (Braindump Poem #3)

I

He looked like a superhero

without the mask,

all white and stony stern

with a whip in his eyes.

He held me but he

wouldn’t know

how I kissed the secret

on his flesh: cwtch.

I could hide in his shirt’s long shadow

unzip my crusted eyes

with the gag of his scent

silencing my skin.

 .

How much of me is my body?

II

Something new, electric

buzzed to life as synapses

kissed. Eureka!

moaned the monster

at the mirror.

I could become

the paint that rings around

the eye,

the spokes that peer out from

the heart,

the dye that bleeds on

the bathroom floor.

 .

How much of me is my body?

 

III

It latched like a

small child would,

rode the world on

my spinal cord,

giggling with its

teeth like hands

clutching my eyes.

I could melt away

with that moment,

seep into the cracks

of the rocking earth

under my empty shoes.

 .

How much of me is my body?

IV

And here we have

enshrined a blob

in a blobbier container.

Its goopy transcendence

can teach and mend us

like all sound-wounds can.

I could condemn my eyes

to sentences, dislocate

them, roll them like dung

balls into someone

else’s skull, warm them

‘til they fall apart like questions.

 .

How much

of me is

my body?

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