no shirt
no shoes
and waiting for his skin
to melt.
For his body to seep into the carpet, into the concrete and
let the dust settle
on the bridge of his nose.
To feel the feet of strangers press into him
over and over
trodden into, like chewing gum.
He could hide in that.
But still he waits,
waits to be left there so
long
That from under the foundations,
roots would slide through him
And burst forth upward,
bearing flowers that bloom out of his chest
and blossom, from his mouth,
a thousand fucks for you to give.
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