On Laundering Roles

A dopamine lick
soft as cheese

I want to ask
"Can I feed you?"
Something.

The ecology under your surface
     green
me, with nausea
and distrust

churns over, overgrown
a stomach full of
chlorophyll

something.
"I don't feel your pain, but I understand that it is real."
     something

Cotton-woven butterflies and flowers
     soft
pulled between your legs
feeling as
feeling should

sticking a thread inside your mouth
embroidering your words
weaving quality
sewing knots

nursing a ghost with one hand
getting home with one key
     safely
detritus
domestic
debris.