No one ever asked you
what sin feels like.
It travels to the ends of your hair,
like every other poem
you have written.
[Metafiction.]
You are the character
that walks
in the tide –
the sand
swallowing
your feet,
wishing
for the
strength of the
undercurrent.
You became
my favorite character.
You filled a basement
with cockroaches
and said
the moving floor
was only a figment
of imagination.