It seems we’ve left skin
in each other’s lungs. I should have
looked under your bed skirt
for my wallet, but how
could credit cards compare
to the sneeze after we’ve parted?
Gone and still you make me
reach for a tissue—still my palms
turn circles in the red
breakwater of your heartbeat.
I want to tell you, I have nothing
but respect for your ribcage
it’s not big enough to hold us.