I miss the man with the scar on his back
split down the middle like a zipper.
I traced it with my lips while he slept and dreamed
I was a detective, someone willing to investigate, sift through
his insides, rearrange some pieces.
One inch at a time, I pulled the zipper.
Sticking after every move, friction riding
his brakes, pause. Pause. Careful!
Pause, pa…