Loneliness splinters me open between my fourth and fifth rib,
hands pressed to my sternum’s feral cage,
said “show me / show me / show me”
like my body belongs to another. We don’t discuss
the beast abandonment makes of us, the transfiguration
caused by wine and fingertips and wanting.
He holds google translate up to my body
and the app spells out “desire / desire / desire”
he holds me where I haven’t been held before, his hands
cold as unwashed scalpels, his forgiving mouth
an untied suture; digs into me, says
“tell me when to stop,” and I’m a boy
who keeps finding himself on an operating table,|
confusing surgery with love.
Sean Glatch is a poet located in Orlando, FL. He runs weekly poetry workshops at the University of Central Florida and is the literary editor for Tongue Tied Mag. Sean's work is forthcoming or featured in Rising Phoenix Press, Ghost City Review, Bombus Press, 8Poems, and L'Ephemere Review. He spends most of his day thinking about his next cup of coffee. You can find him on twitter @seanyglatch