assemble us

here,
will you 
take the instructions?
unfold-- let's read
each other like maps--
like desk drawers &
lamp lights--
i click on with
the push of a button
just like a good star--
drill gun in hand--
these bodies
are in assembly--
knees & wood floor--
i want to put
myself together
beside you-- keep
me company-- this is
a process & i'm still
learning what pieces
are missing--
what screws dropped 
from my elbows
while i was
too busy being a sofa
for bodies
to press into--
come home to me
in the ikea show room--
the faucets don't
work but that's
what we have rain for--
that's why we cut
windows with scissors--
break open
the card board ceiling--
i'll plant you a tree
on the roof top--
one that grows taller
than the sky scrapers--
one that challenges 
the glossy silver
eyes of the building
in center city--
take you shoes off
in me--
stay while--
a body is a kind of
gathering-- 
a congregation
of wood & pressure--
i've never been
one to read instructions--
i've been winging it
thus far
so that's probably 
why i have so many
handfuls of 
screws-- they're 
probably very important--
i keep them in
my pockets
in case i start to
come apart--
i want to come 
apart with you
& back together
& re-assembled into
new shapes--
watch me be water--
an end table--
a windowsill--
open me to let
in a breeze 
loud enough to knock
your mail off
the kitchen table--
i've never been
broken-- just
in assembly-- in
the process of 
finding enough
parts to be
a place i can lay myself
down again--
oh are you a ceiling
or are you a
book shelf? 
both are great 
places to sleep
when a bed is
to vast for tonight's
dream-- when you
walk me out
to my car i want 
to pull you into
the back seat--
kick off
the car roof
& look up 
towards the
night sky-- shy
in the wake of
the city lights--
we'd coax them
out with open
palms & iPhone 
flashlights-- come
home to me--
come home to
me-- 
you make my handfuls 
of screws
melt like the snow--
fold the instructions
into a paper
airplane--
come visit 
on that gust 
still breathing
in your open
window--