you are lying in a skinny bed,
skinny boy trying to pretend
he is not skinny, & you are cradling
the absence of his body
like it is his eyes pointed correctly.
you shed the comforter,
a Darwish quote falls out
of your hair. you’re a walking
dictionary, & you are willing
to prove it, scavenging for entries
in his folding sheets. he mouths
your lobes. the book
between your legs. it matters
what you call a word. you bathe yourself
in lexicon, windows
wide as dream,
the boy behind you still
open & making & making.

                                                   Mizna, 2021