The man in my room

     stokes electricity with his shipwrecked body;

            brings a chair & a location

     on his charred tongue.

This is not his first night here.

     Years ago, I disguised my body as night,

            & he has lurked ever since.

     Standing in the grief between my open closet

& unbroken bed, electricity arced down his body

     to revive the damages

            of his one, perfectly-fitted life.

     He is love from a loveless world,

& unknown names I dare not keep.

     In his full stomach is a life I escaped from, or never

            entered. Every step he takes

     splinters the floorboard. I attempt to wave

him away, but the dark swallows my hands.

     With my family sleeping unknowingly

            in the bliss next door, he seems

     a heavy cross or guillotine,

dragging himself to me. I am looking

     future in the eye, & it can look so violently

            until it is already behind

     me, a boy he drags out

from one painful dream into another,

     where my ankles are in

            his hands, where he is pulling me towards

     his lonesome chair sitting

in front of the closet he crawled

     out of—punched open like a coffin—

            & it feels too real. The moon is half out

     & he shoves his tongue halfway down

my throat before pulling away

     after tasting luck in the flesh

            of my tender mouth. I tell him I love him

     & he winces, then lets go, my cheeks shy

with his blood-print, glassy like eyes

     in between shocks. It doesn’t come off easily.

            It sizzles, & I know this song,

     this crackle of a beat.

I too hum this electricity behind a man’s back.