i make my offerings
of rubber monsters
with buggy eyes
bits of candy
and coffee drinks
i don’t have the words
to make the offerings
make sense
there is no metaphoric altar
waiting to be doused in
fire or blood or any other
melodramatic things
only my face against your shoulder blade
i’ve traced the outline of your tattoo
twenty thousand times or more
it is familiar as your heartbeat
sleep, and maybe when the moon falls
this is nightmares
nothing more.