I can be the one to tell you which floral dress
goes best with your jean jacket.
Or hold your hair back when you run warm water off your face.
You don’t need a clip.
I’m your faithful servant.
I can pack your school books
or writing pad
if you let me.
In fact, I’ll mold myself to you like a small droplet of water on your kitchen counter, you’ll only see yourself.

You can take me out whenever.
I’m alright with being in the dark
Just to hear you shuffle from wash-room,
to sofa,
to bed is plenty.

I can make my body a temple to yours so much  that our bodies become one body negating our individual bodies.
Our Body loses itself in it’s fleshy oneness.
I can make my hands into yours. You’re double-hands.
Fuck
Double everything.
Double big heart and eyes.
Guts get large and I’ll die inside you.
Or die on top of you.
Or die for you.
Or die for nothing and no reason and you can see my face in the paper.

“Man dies insignificantly”
You’ll read my name—spelled wrong—and feel anything for anyone you know and that’s enough.