I’m afraid they’ll see it in my eyes, the way my cornea helplessly puddles in the middle with the soft sheen of a just-polished black leather shoe. I’m afraid they’ll hear it in my laugh, arising now from a place many inches below where it used to, no longer hollow, but full, rounded, carrying weight. I’m afraid they’ll notice that I’m not afraid…there is certainty in my step, and solidity in my figure, shoulders rounding outward, hips grinding forward.
When I see you, it feels like someone tosses a denture cleaning tablet into my heart and it starts fizzing, effervescent, as I dissolve into feeling for you (helplessly puddling at your feet) and they can all see it I’m sure, how you make me luminous, incandescent, and all I was before was half-alive.

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