We Are the Tape

and don’t have to rest fetal curl all our lives,

snuggled to selves. Let’s peel the sign

off your back, away from yourself.

If you slowly groan we can hurry, tear

fast your unroll: a clear symphonic cello bow pull!

We stroke your back like a purring animal

stuck to the sofa, pressing down to join separate

entities, the text on the page torn,

now remarried with your blessing.

A community of ideas held together.

But, really, you’re strongest when stuck

to yourself. If we really want the bottom of the box

to hold, I’ll leave it to you, layered.

It’ll take a blade, or at least a key, to break us.