Untitled

I go to sleep
smelling of cypress and
basil oils

these are good for your bones
so you say
as you drip them
and then rub them
on the skin of my back
and my neck

when I sleep I
dream of you running six fine long
pins through my
shoulders, hips, and ankles
I'm still living, and you pierce me like a
butterfly for display
on foam core
in a glass and wood box

I understand what it doesn't mean

I am not ruined
for flying
only stilled
and encouraged to be seen
in some detail

and remembered
in the remnant scent on my pillowcase
and the collar of my shirt
left on the floor

and then pressed to your face.