AIMEE TACON

course eyes, paper lids
sanding smooth, your numbing gas
eats my chest, slow, dull

fuelled by a wailing
though I can’t locate the source
within, without, or –

woven. that’s right, you
retrieved your tooth from her mouth
to make bone for the

needle, needy, need
your need, it’s exhausting when
I need to breathe, and

I still want you, oh –
sorry, an accident, it
won’t happen again

back to the grain from
your sand, it’s in my car still,
rough to touch, but it’s

nice. nice – to be touched
I’m doing it again, how
embarrassing, I’ll

make room for your fear
I need to sleep anyway
but I’m – I’m still. here.