Whatever it was, I'd go first.
You made me close my eyes
and eat things out of your hand.
There are stories where that's cute,
but not when it's earthworms
and hearts.
We grew up scarecrows spooning,
pines escaping hills built around them.
We drove, never arriving,
rattlesnake boots pressed down some car's throat.
There are biographies of flowers licking wounds
in our chests, but we're too selfish and young
to let them out.
I haven't needed to write in years.
The skin where I cut stories from is marble.
We spend long nights tracing rectangular states
on our skin so it sinks in we're home.
Scott Sherman is a graduate of Ursinus College, where he earned his BA in English. He has been writing poetry for seven years.