You can touch me, I promise
I won’t break.
Haven’t you ever lit a fire
with flint and steel?
When the flesh evaporates, the bones
that are left grow harder.
Think of a gourd, hollowed out,
the skin like lacquered armour.
Grasp the polished knobs
of my shoulders, push
my hips ajar. I am all blunt edges.
Come, bruise yourself.
If I cry out, it’s only because
I’m floating away, filled with helium.
If you wish to find me,
check the ceiling.