Flesh Flower

My pelvic organs feel like fruit 
left in the back of a fridge.
An angel kneels with his knees to my hips, 
bones on bones, and he prays with his fists.
Purpura blooms in me like a flesh flower. 

My body makes me 
work for joy. 

Sometimes, strength is a shield 
I can’t set aside,
even for those who deserve to 
touch me unarmored. 

I have a space betw…