you sprawled in a bed, arms angular and bent back
stretched out, whipping tentacles from a beetle thorax chest
I take the awkward embrace, as I took you,
like I took so much else, I take it into me.
It is how I was trained to be.
I woke up, drowning in cold sweat and guilt,
and stuffed the emotions down, with turkey,
with fear, with the shame of my own breath,
the vapor tendrils which flow from mouth.
As I had diligently learned, studied,
That night, my dreams were of birthing babies,
but I woke up in relief, to know
that I was never taught how.
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