These holes open up sometimes
and you wish you were small
enough to fit in a doctor’s palm
and someone would rush
to struggle to plug
whatever leak maintained
instead it’s just you and
who is you
sometimes it’s me
you is whoever you turn to
these voids
where is self in them
I appreciate the sink drains
I appreciate the hands
the touch, the reality
and still I am simply absence
we are only interactions
I am what I am to you
I am where the refrain lacks
I am however much I can take
I am my resistance to alone
I am how much I let you affect me