hairy wrists
the hair of my wrist
bends with movements
made by warm digits
over a body frictioned
into place.
i write with
nothing ahead of me
and want the world to
forget so
i can continue
unhindered,
unhinged and
unrelenting.
i’ve
forgotten more than
i’ve learned
about writing and
that suits me
just fine.
i’ve never been selfish,
try to
include you
more than my own mind, but
now i feel like
why the hell
waste so much effort
on being clever
when being
me makes
much more
sense?