You came to visit me last night.
You came to visit, so skinny, with shells embedded underneath your skin.
I could feel how thin you were when you wrapped your arms around me, just tendons and sinew wrapped around that beautiful, fluid spine of yours.
You smiled just the same, your same old voice told me you’d just come back from Laos, maybe Cambodia. You’d had an accident, and the point of your chin was bare, a wound healing, your beard stopped short before its logical end.
There were shells underneath your skin. Small clusters of them, on your shoulder, your back, your chest. They were iridescent, a three dimensional tattoo. I told you they were beautiful.
You came to visit me in my house, so skinny, with seashells underneath your skin. You told me you weren’t sure where you were going next, but that you were having a good time so far. You had a wound healing on the point of your chin, your beard grown full on your cheeks and upper lip.
You hugged me, and I felt the shells beneath your skin. You left behind a poem about drowning in a fish pond. You came to visit last night, came to my house, so skinny, a wound healing beautifully on the very end of your chin.
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