Also, here and there it is
misfortune
that we lose,
also, here and there
it is just lips. When I was
a kid, I would ask my mom
to tuck me
in, wrap me tight in covers,
make me into a burrito.
At times I would hold up in bed,
squeezing my body solid, similar to a board,
brain like a plume, senseless setting the scene
to be seen.
So I could be wrapped.
So I could be kissed.
What's more, what
I miss most,
is being made once more.