In the daytime

the body, composed like music,

says to itself:

“How are you?”

to which the immediate response is:

“In love.”

It sighs like a song about it,

then splashes cold water

out of a porcelain basin onto purple veined skin.

There are many ways to love,

and to destroy yourself.

I’d list them all but you would only remember two:

Talk about sadness,

and solitude,

as if they were art

and when the dotted line asks for ‘Name,’

tell yourself you are much too shy to write the One that first comes to mind.

Instead, tell the neighbours that the type of love they’re thinking of

wasn’t being made,

we were just trying to touch each other’s faces.

Tell yourself:

I’m never truly here,

parts of me exist everywhere,

parts of my body hum

like music

and we’re drowning at the bottom of a bath

– Bach’s Suite for Cello Solo No. 1 in G

playing from another room.