Survival

It’s not to be talked about,
the octopus legs cold and suctioning against my hip
in our bed,
your red lips pressed firmly against the pillow
like a beneficial stretch
or a breathing exercise tapping out tiny breaths
to save your life.


You trained your supple limbs to emulate
a nest of worms
each time the earth of your skin
cried out for rotation,
but I have already performed my last trick,
fingers crossed,
that instinct and mimetism
are not your only two cards.