Sharing secrets and cigarettes till sun up
we poke at grey matter in glass jars
as viscous thoughts slide between sulci.
We pick meat from bones; tentatively at first
then suck till sweet marrow runs down chins;
licking sticky lips and fingertips.
As sandpaper lids scrape we finally give in;
fold back into ourselves and slip
into the spaces that our lives provide.
Some days the spaces are too small.