Wooden. Her face was carved.
But when I spoke,
Her eyes moved,
Her lips were soft, her skin flexible,
No longer knotted and lacquered,
No longer molding and thin.
She was able to smile, and I could too.
My swollen medicine injection lips shined,
Like some glow sticks or fire embers.
And my stomach rotated
Around my spine,
Like it was my carousel.
And we would laugh,
And I never got the feeling I was lonely.
I never wondered why
My hands were losing fragments day by day,
Or why my laugh started to become a cough,
And then an ache,
And then nothing.
None of those uglinesses occurred right out to me.
I just thought,
I love her.
And why shouldn’t I?