a painting none of us can crawl in or out of

a maze of tiny staircases stick out of your skin:

descend and discover openings
broken vats,
bits of brain floating in amniotic fluid

miniscule rips in your side are entrances to a larger cavern
where chained philosophers praise their dancing shadows
on the walls of black lungs

when I lie on top of you
the serrated edges of tiny structures puncture my skin
until we are full of symmetrical slots;

these are collisions
decorating surgical bodies
splayed on a table
limbs pulled back with pins

when aroused by instruments
we liqueify
until all that remains are
a broken foundation
stairways drained of blood
ribs curled in on themselves
bloated with

I only wanted to feel moisture
and the proximity of organic things.

Imagine Nietzsche crumbling and sobbing against a horse's body, face pressed against the hot skin, whispering
we are all broken

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