To Make Lines in the Shape

The more you write of your flesh,
The less you are part of it,

The more you have left for death,
Ghosts, these words you used for flesh.

You will not draw close in lines
That spell out your love of you,

Of your meat and bones, your breath,
Your waste, how you want your food,

How you love or loathe your sex.
Don’t let us stop you. We’re words.

That’s what we’re for. If you want
To hug your life to you, stop.