And sometimes it is
loss

that we lose,

and sometimes

it is just lips. When I was

a child, I would ask my mother

to tuck me

in, wrap me tight in blankets,

make me into a burrito.

Sometimes I would wait in bed,

pressing my body stiff, like a board,

mind like a feather, silly— setting the scene

to be seen.

So I could be wrapped.

So I could be kissed.

And what

 

I miss most,

is being                              made                                  again.

– David Tomas Martinez